The First Step
by WhimsyWilde
Summary: Ilaria, daughter of a Tevinter Magister, has exiled herself to Ferelden just before the Blight and manages to end up in the shadow of the Warden. (My take on the story with my OC added in. Will eventually follow through Awakening and DAII.) Anders, Alistair, Amell, Zevran, Wynne, Leliana, Sten, Shale, Morrigan, Ogren
1. Welcome to Ferelden

This is not what she had expected.

She knew the Templars would be suspicious of her voluntarily turning herself in but she had never considered that they would be cruel. She'd been in Ferelden for just over a month when she entered the Chantry in Highever and asked to see the Knight-Commander. She'd waited patiently for most of the day for him to become available. When she was finally ushered into a small office just off the side of the Chantry, she presented herself as a Tevinter mage and offered her paperwork as proof. Several minutes passed while he examined her official travel papers. The silence began to make her uneasy so she explained that she was hoping to spend some time in Ferelden's Circle to study. She was unsurprised that he seemed uneasy but he was diplomatic and stated that he would have a Templar escort ready the next morning to deliver her to the Circle.

Had she known that her escort would shackle her and force her to walk behind a horse she would never have submitted herself in the first place. She spent the night sleeping in a small room off the side of the Chantry on a rickety cot and was woken by the rough, armored hands of three Templars at dawn. She was instructed to prepare to leave within the hour. She'd barely had time to wash her face and relieve herself before being pushed out into the courtyard. Her Templar escort surrounded her, each siphoning mana from her until she dropped to her knees. With her mana completely drained she felt weak and lightheaded as if she'd gone for a long period without food. She later remembered very little of that morning other than the crisp smell of winter in the air and the biting cold of the manacles on her wrists.

After almost two weeks of blisters, meager food rations, and sleeping on the freezing ground, she thought reaching Kinloch Hold would bring relief. Instead, she had immediately been carted off to the dungeon without speaking to the First Enchanter or Knight-Commander there. It was dark and cold and smelled heavily of damp earth and mildew. The weakness she had lived with as a result of having all her mana drained for an extended period of time had worn away her resolve and the heavy thump of the thick wooden door closing behind her was almost more than she could bear. She sank down in the nearest corner of her cell with a weak moan, her forehead pressed against the rough stone. She curled in upon herself attempting to press as much of her body into the corner as possible as if it might shield her from her circumstances. Her should pressed into the juncture of the walls hiding most of the room from her view. She was caught completely off guard when a pale light flared up around her.

"So, what are you in for?" a voice too cheerful for the current situation asked.

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the new light. She could see a young man in the corner of the cell furthest from her. He was handsome: dirty, blonde hair, soft, brown eyes, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and a roguish smirk. Something in his expression set her at ease and helped push back her fear and exhaustion.

"I'm not exactly sure," she answered softly, turning her face away. She almost hoped he'd leave her alone despite his open warmth. The last thing she needed was the ridicule that would inevitably come from her fellow prisoner about her stupidity. As she'd done so many times already the last weeks she kicked herself for trusting the Templars and their Chantry.

Anders took in the woman in front of him. The Templars had dumped her roughly in the cell and she hadn't struggled. He hadn't been able to see much until he activated the witch light. She was delicate, obviously human but closer to the height of an elf; just over five feet. As she looked over her shoulder at him he could see her eyes were a brilliant blue-green in her round face but rimmed with dark circles marking her fatigue. Her auburn hair fell in a long braid down her back. It appeared tangled and was falling out of the braid in chunks. She had the palest skin he'd ever seen with a small nose dusted with freckles. Where flesh wasn't covered by filthy clothing there were scrapes and cuts colored with new bruises layered over old. He wondered if this is what he looked like when the Templars dragged him back to the Tower.

"Not sure... Hmm..." He crossed the room and knelt on the floor near her. "Well, I'm assuming since you're in here you're a mage. No great leap there... Then again, I don't recognize you and I'm sure I've meet every pretty girl in the Tower." The corners of her mouth quirked in the beginning of a smile. "I'm Anders... and I'm available." He winked.

She smiled and seemed to roll her eyes slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Anders." She turned toward him, pulling herself from the embrace of the wall. "I'm Ilaria and I'm not from Ferelden's circle. The Templars brought me from Highever but I'm originally from Tevinter."

"Tevinter? As in the Imperium Tevinter? The Tevinter Imperium? What in Andraste's knickers did you come here for?"

When she snickered he reminded himself that staring with his jaw hanging open was hardly attractive. "I have been... traveling for a long time. I missed studying. I thought I might be able to study here for a while. Supposedly, the Templars can't keep me if I want to leave. They have my papers." She paused. "Although, I'm starting to question that theory now." Her brows furrowed for a moment before she relaxed and sighed. "I thought if I presented my papers that I could travel here safely and work with the mages here. I didn't know they'd drag me here chained to a Templar saddle with just enough food and water to keep me alive."

"You don't know many Templars," Anders said grudgingly. He gently took her hand in his and lifted her arm. He examined her wrist where it had been rubbed raw by the manacle used to chain her. "Did they beat you?" he queried, his voice soft and understanding.

"No, but they kept me drained of mana. I didn't sleep well. It's so cold here at night." She shivered. "By the third day I was so weak I tripped over every rock or stick on the road." She pulled her hand away from his and curled back in on herself. "What have I gotten myself into?" The pained look in her eyes was evidence enough that she wasn't looking for an answer.

"I'm... sorry." Anders knew exactly what she was feeling. She was obviously confused and a little bit frightened. He felt a kinship with the small woman in front of him and with that came the desire to protect her. He puzzled over what to do or say next.

At the sound of the tumblers turning in the heavy locks on the door her head lifted. The sliver of light coming through the crack in the door revealed two Templars in full armor. "Knight-Commander Greagoir and the First Enchanter want to see you, witch." This new Templar was as hard and cold as those who had shoved her in initially.

"What? I'm not invited? Very well then, I shall remain and clean the place up a bit. But you let them know I'll not be inviting them to my party. Too bad really. They'll miss out on the dancing girls." Anders plastered a ridiculous grin across his face but his eyes were hard and cold.

"Keep your mouth shut, filthy mage!" the Templar growled. He seemed to be reaching for his sword. The second Templar, who had been silent through the exchange stopped him.

"Adair, that's not necessary. You know Anders. This should hardly surprise you."

Adair lowered his arm to the side, tension still rippling through him. "Very well, Cullen. Get the little witch and let's get back upstairs. It's damp down here." He stepped away from the door.

Ilaria surprise of Cullen's gentleness as he reached down and helped her stand was obvious. She eyed his gauntleted hand warily before pressing her small, delicate fingers in his. "Come along then," he said helping her to stand. "It's best not to keep the Knight-Commander waiting." He kept a steadying hand under her arm as the trio exited the dank cell.

Ilaria shot Anders a glance with a half hearted smile before allowing the Templars to escort her out of the dungeon. As the door began to shut behind them, Anders called out, "Welcome to Ferelden!" He watched her leave, hoping he'd see her again and wondering if he'd get the chance to.


	2. Acceptance With Conditions

The Templars, Cullen and Adair, escorted Ilaria to Knight-Commander Greagoir's office on the ground floor of the Circle Tower. Her hope of being given the opportunity to clean up first was quickly dashed. Though, in all honesty, it was wishful thinking at best. These Ferelden Templars were nothing like those in Tevinter. The Tevinter Templars were cautious around mages but treated them with a great deal of respect. Ilaria was beginning to wonder why she thought she might even be given a hint of that respect in a nation whose primary faith taught that mages should be unwillingly locked in a tower because of an accident of birth.

Greagoir's office was utilitarian, to say the least. There was a large, solid wooden desk in the center of the room, a few chairs and a bookshelf. The only decorations visible was the Templar coat-of-arms hanging over the mantle and a figurine of Andraste on a small table in the corner. It smelled of wood smoke and metal polish. The fire burned high, chasing out the winter chill. As Ilaria entered, she observed two aged men deep in discussion. They turned to face her as she entered.

"Greetings, young lady. I am the First Enchanter, Irving. This is Knight Commander Greagoir." Ilaria observed that Irving, though having the physical appearance of frailty, was surrounded by an intensely powerful magical aura. His eyes were cunning but gentle and she got the impression that he was a reasonable man. The Knight-Commander looked to be almost Irving's age but still appeared at a physical peak: back straight, shoulders squared. He stared her down with a wary look. She knew that some Templars were able to get a sense of a mages capabilities and the way he was watching her gave her the feeling that he was using the abilities at his disposal to reason her out.

"Please, have a seat. The Knight-Commander and I would just like to ask you a few questions," Irving explained. Ilaria glanced at Greagoir with cautious uncertainty before following Irving to a few chairs placed close to the fire. Cullen and Adair took up guard just inside the doorway.

"Tell me, child, what brings you to Ferelden?" Irving questioned after they sat. Greagoir remained standing at the First Enchanter's shoulder.

"I have been travelling for a while. I wished to return to my studies. Ferelden was simply where I came to this decision," she responded softly.

"Can I ask why you left Tevinter in the first place? You had to know that mages outside of Tevinter have fewer... luxuries than those within." Irving's gaze was steady and calm though Ilaria noticed Greagoir tense slightly. It appeared he had caught the same implication that she had. Mages in the Circle had fewer freedoms.

She remained silent for a moment. Keeping secrets at this point would more likely cause her injury than do her any good. She took a fortifying breath before continuing. "My father was a Tevinter Magister. He was killed several years ago by another Magister. When I learned who killed my father, I felt concern for my life. I left before I shared his fate."

Greagoir spoke for the first time. "And where have you been in the interim?"

Ilaria met his gaze and was struck by the sudden realization that fearing this man would not help her if she were to stay here. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders before responding. "I left Minrathous on a merchant ship. We sailed to Rivain. The ship's captain introduced me to the master of a travelling faire. I spent the last two years travelling with them, performing. I presented my papers before beginning."

"Yes, about your Papers," Greagoir retorted, his tone rife with overtones of distrust, "we are having them verified. I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Ilaria kept her tone polite but by forcing back the biting response bubbling behind her lips. "No, it won't. I'm quite confident you'll find everything included to show my right to travel Thedas."

"What, exactly, were you hoping to do here, child?" Irving pulled the conversation back.

"I would like to continue practicing my current skills and study healing. I am quite practiced in other schools of magic but healing is not something that I was given opportunity to learn much of. After spending sometime in the world, I feel that a healer's skill would be the most... practical."

"Tell me, please, what skills do you possess? Which magics are you most proficient in?" the mage queried.

"My strongest skills are currently in Primal and Spirit magics. My father also had me trained in Force magic. I haven't mastered it yet. I have been trained, at least minimally, in other areas but have either shown ineptitude or lack of interest in them."

"And what about _Blood magic_?" Greagoir pressed.

Ilaria looked him in the eye when she spoke, hoping he'd believe the truth. "Blood magic is forbidden in the Imperium, just as it is here. And I have no desire to bargain with demons." Her voice had taken on a hard edge.

There were several moments of poignant silence before Irving spoke and Ilaria broke eye contact with the Knight-Commander. "Cullen, would you, please, fetch Neria Solona." Cullen bowed slightly before exiting the room. "Now, Ilaria, Solona is a skilled apprentice. I'll have her take you to get cleaned up while Greagoir and I discuss where you will best fit among us. We'll provide you with a robe for the time being and I'll have your things brought to my office. Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, First Enchanter, thank you." Ilaria felt relieved. At least she was going to get to bathe. She had only been fantasizing about the simple pleasures of a bath when Cullen returned with a young woman. She was elven with pale blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head. Her eyes were large; the irises an impossible light violet. Her skin was a golden tan color that made it seem as though she radiated a soft warm light. Her lips carried a soft smile and her eyes were open and curious.

"Ah, Neria," Irving began, "this is Ilaria. She's a Tevinter mage who will be staying with us for a time. Could you, please, take her up to the guest quarters so that she can bathe?"

Ilaria watched Neria silently examine her before responding. "Of course, First Enchanter. Will there be anything else?" Her voice was high and soft. It reminded Ilaria of chimes in the breeze.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find some robes for her. Owain may have some available in the store room. I'll have the kitchen send something up for dinner." Irving lead Ilaria to the door. "Please, remain in your quarters for the time being," he requested of her. "We'll speak again soon, child." She nodded and she and Neria bid farewell to the First Enchanter.

Neria set off down the hallway at a brisk pace. Ilaria caught up and matched her stride. There were several moments of awkward silence before Ilaria spoke.

"I'm sorry if I have interrupted your day," she began.

Neria blushed slightly and replied, "It is no bother."

Ilaria waited for her to continue and when the other mage didn't she fell into an exhausted silence. She was too tired and hungry to attempt a forced conversation. She remained this way until they reached the library. As she walked over the threshold, the scent of parchment, candle wax and a spicy scent she knew to be remnants of magic filled her nose. She paused, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply. Images of her father, the library in their manor in Tevinter and endless hours spent training rushed to her mind. It had been years since she'd been in a library and she'd missed the quiet comfort of the tomes and their knowledge.

"Are you alright?" Neria's soft voice interrupted her. Her eyes showed concern.

Ilaria snapped back to the present. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired and... that smell..." Neria gazed at her questioningly. "The tomes. I haven't been in a library for a long time and I didn't realize how much I... missed it." Her eyes became distant again for a moment. "Please, let's continue. I haven't been able to clean up for days."

Neria smiled and continued on. As they made their way through the tower, she pointed out things of interest to Ilaria, occasionally filling in some small piece of gossip. Ilaria found herself warming to the small elf. She was shy but seemed warm and willing to open up.

When they reached the guest quarters, Neria helped Ilaria to prepare a bath and then left to find some robes. Upon her return, she helped to wash Ilaria's thick, dark auburn hair and offered to brush it out after the bath. They chatted amicably and when dinner arrived they continued while they ate.

Eventually Ilaria's curiosity encouraged her to ask about Anders. "I met a young man, in the dungeon, when they brought me in. He said his name was Anders..."

Neria interrupted her. "Oh, Anders... He's been down there for about three months. The first two of those were spent in solitary."

This seemed to denote a dangerous individual. That was not the impression Ilaria had received when she spoke to him. "What did he do to deserve that?"

Neria seemed mildly amused. "Oh, he escaped again... for the fifth time."

Ilaria was shocked. "Fifth?" Her experience with templars was limited but she knew enough of them to be surprised that Anders hadn't suffered greater punishment than imprisonment. Though she was loathe to think it, she would have expected tranquility by now.

Neria giggled. "Yes, fifth. Anders is quite good at getting out of the Tower, just not so good at staying out. He's rarely ever gone for more than a few weeks. The First Enchanter keeps stepping in to prevent him from severe punishment. He doesn't seem to think Anders is dangerous. Just... free spirited." A strand of soft hair fell out of her bun as Neria gently shook her head. She sobered. "One of these days Greagoir is going to override Irving's decision. Then Anders will be dead... or... _tranquil._" She shuddered on the final word.

The Tevinter Imperium didn't have Tranquil. If a mage was deemed to be too dangerous, they were killed but that happened rarely. Ilaria had seen a few Tranquil on her journeys. She had always found them disturbing without truly understanding why. When she had been told what Tranquility really meant, that a mage was completely cut off from the Fade removing their emotions, she felt sick. No one should be forced to lose so much of what made them who they were.

A rap on the door drew the two young women out of their silent reverie. After a slight pause, Cullen entered the room. He met two pairs of bright eyes and blushed slightly. "Forgive my interruption," he said to Ilaria. "The First Enchanter asked me to fetch you." He turned to Neria and his blush seemed to deepen. "I was to... ah... tell you to return to your... um... lessons."

"Thank you, Cullen," Neria responded softly before brushing past him out the door, her cheeks an endearing shade of pink. Ilaria joined the awkward templar at the door and followed him back toward Greagoir's office.

Greagoir and Irving began their discussion the moment the door closed behind Ilaria.

"Hmm... An interesting young woman. I would like to test her abilities as soon as she is ready." Irving was already deep in thought, musing the possibilities of working with a strong apprentice.

Greagoir sneered. "If she is to remain in the Tower, she is to be Harrowed immediately."

Irving turned to his respected counterpart. "Come now, Greagoir. We do not even know if the girl would be prepared to take on the rigors of the Harrowing. Allow me to test her abilities and then we shall decided if offering her the opportunity to stay is worth undergoing the Harrowing."

"Very well. I will allow the Harrowing to wait on the condition that she be tested first thing tomorrow. However, if she does not wish to be Harrowed, she will be escorted back to the Tevinter Imperium's borders by a contingent of Templars."

Thank you, Greagoir. I'd also like to discuss Anders release with you."

"Irving, we have been over this before. I know you do not believe him to be a danger but the fact stands that he has repeatedly broken Chantry Law. If it was any other mage, he would have been executed or been forced to submit to Tranquility. He shall remain where he is for the time being." Greagoir's tone was stern and carried a note of finality.

"He is a proficient healer. It is possible that having an apprentice could provide him with the motivation he needs to remain within the Tower's walls."

"An apprentice? I was not aware that there were any apprentice's still in need of a mentor who were interested in healing. Has someone... Oh, no. No! I will not allow it! What better way to encourage Anders to run off again than to provide him with someone who will fill his head with stories of limitless freedoms for mages." The Knight-Commander had begun pacing before the hearth. Irving idly wondered if there was a visible worn spot there from the hours Greagoir had marched there over the years.

"Anders is never actually _hiding_ when your Templars find him and he has never resisted being returned. He's remained cool headed regardless of the abuses pressed upon him. He has been imprisoned long enough. Let us give him the opportunity to show that he could be a good teacher. Perhaps he will find a calling in it."

Greagoir's jaw clenched and the muscles in his jaw flexed. Irving knew the look on his face to be a look of concession.

"Very well. If the girl is properly tested and succeeds with a Harrowing then we will offer Anders as a mentor so that she may study healing. But I warn you, Irving, if Anders flees the Tower again, I will not be so lenient. He will spend no less than an year in solitary if he is even awarded that consideration."

"Thank you, Greagoir. I shall begin making preparations immediately." Irving smiled to himself as he headed toward his office. The next few days would prove interesting indeed.


	3. Displays of Power

Standing in the large training room, Ilaria mused over her discussion with Irving the night before. After informing her of the stipulations on her remaining within the Tower she'd been sent off to rest. Sleeping in a soft bed for the first time in weeks left her looking forward to the day of testing. It had been months since she had done anything with her magic and she had the sensation of being cramped. It was as if her magical abilities needed to be stretched like her legs would need to be had she kept them curled beneath her for too long.

"Let us begin with your abilities in Primal and Elemental magic," Irving began. "Are you familiar with the manipulation of all the elements?"

Ilaria's fingers tingled with anticipation. Her fascination of elemental spells had made her exceptionally proficient in Primal magic.

"I can manipulate all the elements, but my strength lies with fire," she explained.

"Then we shall begin there. First, I would like you to show me something as an example of your spell strength, and then your control."

She nodded her assent hardly noticing the creak of the door opening behind her. She took in the training room. It was a large, open room at the base of the tower. Everything had been modified over the years to be able to withstand the spells practiced within, from the thick walls to the incredibly high ceiling. Summoning her power, she conjured to mind what fire was to her: the heat, the smell, the light. Ilaria allowed her magic to swell and ripple around her. Focusing the energy, she launched a large fireball across the room. It erupted against the far wall covering the stone in brilliant flames. The heat rushed back to her from across the room, lifting her hair and caressing her bare skin. Her borrowed robes quivered slightly behind her.

"Impressive," Irving smiled slightly. "Now, control?"

Ilaria paused for only a moment before deciding on a spell. When she had wanted to learn this particular spell, her father had chided her about its pomp but had been pleased when she had mastered it. She allowed her memories of him to mingle with her magic giving the spell even more focus. She took a deep breath and followed the casting motions with her hands, eyes closed. It was only a few seconds before she paused, a small stream of fire slithering from her fingertips. The fire uncoiled around her like a ribbon. After circling her several times, the ribbon thickened, writhing slightly before taking on the appearance of a horned serpent. When the fire took its form, her eyes opened. They were glowing with the energy she was pulling from the Fade. Swinging her arms to one side, the fire serpent took off around the room, undulating like the form it was inspired by. As it came back to Ilaria again, she threw her arms into the air at the side of her head and it burst into thousands of tiny sparks that burnt out in moments.

Followed by an unusually large templar guard, Anders entered the training room moments before Ilaria began her testing. He was amused by the shuffling of templar feet that followed Ilaria's initial display of magic. He was fairly certain that there were few mages in the Circle that could summon a fireball that size. The rush of heat following the blast felt like a soothing balm after spending so much time in the cold dungeon. He eagerly awaited her next showcase.

It was almost a disappointment to see her in the Circle's robes. He couldn't help thinking that pretty girls should never be covered head to toe that way. It simply wasn't flattering. Instead of lingering on those thoughts, he found himself appreciating the way her hair cascaded down her back. It was free from the thick braid and dirt from the day before, and it was light and wavy. He noticed that there were several small braids that appeared to be beaded hidden away in the thickness.

He watched her in profile as she summoned the next spell. Her eyes closed and the corners of her lips turned up in a slight smile. The energy flowing from her was almost tangible as the fire slithered from her and then grew. There were several surprised gasps as the fire formed and leaped around the room. When the fire exploded around her and she took a neutral stance, Anders reminded himself that his mouth hanging open was truly unflattering at any time. He managed to assume his carefree swagger just before she glanced toward him. He smirked and waggled his fingers at her in greeting.

Irving began prattling on about superior control, with Ilaria paying polite attention. Anders wasn't listening to a thing he said. Instead, he was imagining fire serpents gobbling up templars so he and Ilaria could make their escape. The tingle of magic ended his daydreams and he focused in time to see the delicate mage fueling several tiny fires on the ground that shaped into butterflies before fluttering out of existence.

The day continued much the same way. Irving would request demonstration of a particular type of magic and Ilaria would perform one spell or another to demonstrate her ability; from fire to ice, earth, and lightning. Then came the Spirit spells. They were weaker than her Primal spells with the exception of her shield. As midday drew near, she found her strength waning. The last time she'd used magic this much was in Tevinter two years ago. Since then, she limited casting to small displays of power: lighting a campfire when the wood was damp, cooling water to drink on hot days and occasionally sapping pesky bugs with tiny energy bolts. A wave of relief coursed through her when Irving and Greagoir agreed the testing complete. As Irving lead her out of the training room and down the hallway she stayed close to the wall in case her legs gave out and she needed to sit. It wasn't long before she felt herself sway and she prepared to catch herself against the wall. Instead, a gauntleted hand gripped her upper arm, keeping her on her feet. Cullen. She looked up into pale green eyes and smiled wearily. She was about to thank him when an overly bright voice interrupted.

"I'm sure the lady thanks you for your kind services, Templar, but I can handle things from here," said Anders as he walked up to Ilaria. Without waiting for a response, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her after Irving. He was almost uncomfortably close but he smelled like soap and magic and his support was welcome at the moment. She hadn't realized how shaky her legs felt. "We meet again, I see. You seem to be fairing a little better today, dear lady," his grin incorrigible.

Ilaria's smile was weak but warm. "Managed to talk someone into letting you come to the party?" she teased.

Anders chuckled. "They had to invite me eventually, life of the party and all."

She smiled back but didn't say anything. She knew he was observing her when he turned to look at the templars behind them as he summoned a rejuvenation spell. "Nothing to get worked up about. Just something to help the lady," he explained. She felt remarkably better afterwards if not quite up to her normal strength. It was shortly thereafter they caught up to Irving. He directed the two mages to take a seat in a small room. He sat across from them, Commander Greagoir just to the side.

"Ilaria, as we discussed, if you are to stay you will be required to go through the Harrowing. With your skill level, you will be tested very soon. Do you still wish to go through with this?" Irving queried.

"Yes, First-Enchanter," she answered.

"Very well. You've met Anders, I see."

"Yes, before today, actually. We met the day I arrived."

"Ah, yes. Greagoir and I have agreed that Anders will be your mentor if you still wish to study healing. I assume that this is agreeable to both of you?"

Ilaria simply nodded. Anders smirked. "You mean I get to go from the dungeon to spending everyday with a lovely young woman? I think I can live with that." He turned and winked at her.

Irving rolled his eyes before continuing. "Then it is settled. Ilaria, while you remain with us Anders will be your mentor. He is an accomplished healer. You can learn much from him."

"Thank you, First-Enchanter," she said, her voice respectful.

"And Anders," Irving continued, "for once, please, be on your best behavior."

Anders sighed dramatically. "If I must."


	4. The Harrowing

Cullen always hated these nights. He'd only been a templar at the Circle for a few years, but he'd never quite gotten used to the Harrowing. And tonight it was Ilaria, the petite little Tevinter mage that had shown up in Ferelden almost a month ago. Half a dozen templars, all in full armor, dragged her from sleep in the middle of the night, ordered her to dress, and then led her to the Harrowing chamber. Though she seemed disoriented at first, she quickly complied with the same grace with which she did everything else.

Her diminutive size masked a prodigious amount of magical power. He was certain that if she wasn't protected by Tevinter law that Knight-Commander Greagoir would have had her made Tranquil. Her impressive level of control was also a possible factor in that. Cullen hadn't seen any of the Circle mages able to cast elemental spells with the same kind of pinpoint precision. He wondered if her training in the Imperium was responsible for the differences in her from the other mages.

He was only half listening as Irving and Greagoir explained what was to come. He'd heard it all before. If she failed tonight, if a demon took her, he was to strike her down. His stomach was tight with a sense of dread that always settled on him during Harrowing nights. It was a relief each time a mage returned from the Fade, collapsing from exhaustion, still in possession of themselves.

His attention perked as Ilaria turned toward the pedestal in the center of the chamber. The lyrium gave off a ghostly blue glow that illuminated her face as she approached. She looked down into its shallow depths before taking a deep breath and lifting her hand. As her fingertips touched the blue liquid, tendrils of light crept up her arm. She looked alarmed for a moment before her jaw clenched and she gasped.

Cullen had seen a variety of reactions from mages after touching the lyrium. All of them seemed to experience some degree of pain as they entered the Fade this way. Ilaria's reaction was no surprise. There seemed to be a soft cry cut short as the eerie glow enveloped her body. She stood by the pedestal, motionless, eyes closed. A Harrowing generally lasted a few hours, though every mage was different. More powerful mages seemed to complete their challenge quickly. He wondered if hers would take long.

He settled in to wait and was unnerved to sense Ilaria's power swelling around her within the hour. She must be confronting the demon. But so soon? After several minutes, the ripples of power dissipated and she settled but remained in the Fade. As the moments passed by, Cullen grew concerned. If she didn't return soon, Greagoir was sure to assume the worst and he would give the signal. His gaze shifted between the mage and his commander. It had only been a few minutes but Greagoir was becoming increasingly restless. Suddenly, there was a massive swell of energy. It seemed as if it was being pulled from everywhere to coalesce around Ilaria's still form. Cullen prepared himself to make a killing blow when Ilaria's eyes flashed open, radiating blue light. He watched her jaw clench, her nostrils flared and her body shook.

"Now, Cullen!" Greagoir cried as the mage's body began lifting from the floor will pulsating mana. Cullen started toward her, sword raised. Waves of energy were rolling out from Ilaria. Cullen was only a few feet from her, moments from ending her life, when she cried out.

"NO!" A blast of power flung him back, almost knocking him off his feet. He looked up to see Ilaria sway weakly. Her eyes met his for a moment before she dropped to the floor.

"Andraste save us," Greagoir breathed.

Irving looked shaken, something Cullen had never seen, yet his voice was still perfectly steady as he spoke. "She is successful. Cullen, please, return her to her room."

"You cannot be serious, Irving," Greagoir barked. "You saw what just happened."

"I saw exactly what you did, Greagoir. I saw a very talented mage resist the temptation of a demon. She has passed her Harrowing." Irving's tone was firm. "We will keep our end of the bargain."

"She is dangerous! A force like that..."

Irving interrupted. "...Is in the best hands it could be. We knew from her testing that her connection to the Fade was greater than most mages and that it would make her more powerful. Whether as a result of her training or her nature, she has the willpower to resist whatever a very powerful demon can offer." Irving had approached the limp form on the floor as he spoke and he now stood between the young mage and the templars.

Cullen looked at Greagoir hoping that this wouldn't cause open conflict. They were here to protect the world from the dangers of magic but they were also her to protect the mages. Ilaria had proven herself in their test. Greagoir was alternately white and red. Irving had made a solid point and appeared unwilling to back down. The Knight-Commander's hands clenched, and there were several moments of tense silence before he spoke.

"You are correct, Irving. The mage has proved her will tonight. But I warn you... The slightest indication that she is a threat, and I will strike her down myself. I will not see this tower and its inhabitants fall to an abomination."

Cullen hoped his relief wasn't apparent. As he and his fellows carried the small mage back to her bed in the Apprentice Quarters he mulled over what exactly he was feeling. He respected this unassuming woman and the great power she was capable of. He was also a little bit terrified of what she was capable of. He reminded himself that this wasn't a choice that she had made but an accident of birth. It was unfortunate so many of his brothers and sisters at arms had forgotten that.

He'd heard templars talk of mages unique connection to the Fade before but didn't quite understand it. He wasn't sure they did either. What he did know is that "normal" people were connected to the Fade on very base levels. They entered only in their dreams and it was unlikely they would ever encounter a demon interested in them. Mages had a greater connection to the Fade, allowing them to manipulate the power drawn from it and within the mages, their level of connection varied. The greater the connection, the greater the power, and the greater the chance a demon would be drawn to them. Older templars who had developed their abilities could occasionally sense to what degree a mage was connected to the Fade. Judging by Greagoir's reaction to her, Ilaria must have been connected to the Fade on an impressive scale.

As the templars laid Ilaria in her bed, she whimpered slightly, her face contorted for a moment in fear. Many of the mages seemed to have nightmares after competing their Harrowing. Cullen turned and left the room where the apprentices slept, wondering at the protective feeling that had begun building in him since he met Ilaria.

The rumors were flying around the tower. Everyone seemed to be talking about Ilaria's Harrowing. The stories were, of course, growing and changing with each telling. Anders wondered how long it would be before they were saying that she had summoned a demon from the Fade and killed it herself. He was guessing that her Harrowing must have at least been a little impressive. Even the more mild stories were pressing that point. After waiting as long as his patience could last, he headed off toward her bed to wake her.

Anders and Ilaria had spent most of the last few days together. He was supposed to be her mentor, to teach her healing magic, but, he admitted to himself, they'd spent more of the week sharing stories and laughing than actually working. He found her to be sweet natured, and she loved to laugh. His flirtatious banter was getting him nowhere with her. Any sort of innuendo was always given an indulgent smile, and then she would change the subject. He'd found himself opening up to her, sharing things he generally kept to himself. Maybe it was because she seemed to resist his charm so easily. He wasn't sure. What he did know was simple: if he couldn't coax her into his bed... or against a wall... or whatever, he was content with her friendship. They bantered with each other easily, and he felt more content than he had in a long time.

She was still asleep when he entered the room set aside for female apprentices. He watched her sleep for a moment, charmed by the peaceful look on her face, before reaching down and shaking her shoulder. He'd barely touched her when her eyes flew open and he was pressed back by a mild shock of electricity.

"Andraste's flaming ass! What was that for?" he said in surprise.

Ilaria looked around the room for a moment, eyes wild, before calming. She met Anders slightly miffed expression.

"I'm sorry, Anders. I was having a nightmare. You startled me." She looked him over for a moment before a giggle burbled up from her chest.

"First you shock me - quite unnecessarily, I might add - and then you laugh at me. What is so funny?" he asked indignantly.

Forcing back her laughter, Ilaria stood and walked over to Anders. She reached up and began smoothing his hair down. "You might need to retie your hair. It's a bit... well, it's sticking up all over the place." She sniggered again.

Anders ran to the vanity, observing his reflection in the mirror with something akin to horror. The little jolt Ilaria had given him had caused small bits of his hair to stand on end, floating around his head. He sat on the small stool and tried flattening the mess. Still smirking, Ilaria came up behind him and untied the thin strip of leather he'd bound his hair with. She'd brought her comb with her. He relaxed and allowed her to run the comb through his hair several times before smoothing it back and binding it again at the nape of his neck.

"Ah, much better. You do that almost as well as I do. Maybe I'll have to hire you," he quipped.

She chuckled. "You couldn't afford me."

He grinned at her, rose from the stool and looped his arm over her shoulders. "Now, let's get you some breakfast and you can tell me all about your misadventures last night. If it's even half as good as what I've already heard this morning, you've got quite the tale for me."

Ilaria smirked and shook her head. "I can't imagine my story is much different from any other Harrowed mage. Into the Fade, fight a demon, blah, blah, blah. I can't believe they make everyone do that, by the way. Your Chantry is crazy."

"And this, dear lady, is why I love you," Anders smirked. "You and I have exactly the same thoughts on the matter."

She rolled her eyes, smiling, and together they set off toward the kitchen in search of a decent meal.


	5. Solitary

Ander's watches Ilaria, his head resting in her lap, as she tells another story about her adventures with the Darke Days Faire. She does her best to keep the storytelling to a minimum since it makes the templars shifty but Neria is persistent. Neria has become the little sister to their little group: Anders, Ilaria, Neria, Jowan and Deylan Amell. Everyone dotes on her and protects her. She's sitting at Ilaria's feet now, eyes bright and smiling. Jowan is sitting in a chair nearby, occasionally asking questions. Deylan, ever serious, is also sitting nearby but with a book in his lap, pretending not to listen. This is the closest to family Anders has gotten in a long time, not that he would admit that, of course. The templars would just find a way to take it from him like they did everything else.

Ilaria drew them together. Jowan and Neria had been friends for years so it was hardly surprising when Jowan just became an extension of Ilaria's friendship with Neria. And then Ilaria had somehow managed to get Deylan mashed into their little circle of mischief makers. Anders wondered if she'd befriended him with the hopes that he could get them out of tight places, which he consistently seemed to do. His level calm set the templars at ease and when hands were caught in the pot, so to speak, he was able to diplomatically resolve any disputes before they went any further. It was generally Anders getting them into those hot spots in the first place.

The laughter of his friends drew him from his thoughts and he wondered what he missed. Even Deylan was chuckling into his book. Ilaria's warm laugh flooded him with warmth quickly followed by a pang of guilt. He wondered what she would think of his carefully laid plans. He'd thought about asking her but it really wouldn't be fair to bring that kind of trouble on her. They'd probably suspect her involvement as it is. No, it was best that she didn't know anything about it.

"Did he ever take them again?" Neria asked.

Ilaria shook her head, a smile playing over her lips. "No. The best part was that he truly believed that nonsense I fed him about them being flammable. It took over a month for his eyebrows to grow back in."

Everyone began chuckling again until they heard the shifting plates of templar armor. Anders looked up. "Don't worry. It's just Cullen. All we need to do is begin loudly talking about the quality of Ilaria's breasts or Neria's full lips, and he'll turn an alarming shade of red before trying to ignore everything we're saying for the rest of the night." He noticed that, not only was Cullen that alarming shade of red, but so was Neria.

Ilaria slapped him playfully on the top of the head. "I'll thank you to not speak of my breasts. If female bodies have to be the topic of discussion, I'm sure you've got plenty to share on that little brunette you've been seeing. What was her name again?"

"Ow... and Sophie. And a gentleman never kisses and tells."

This brought another ripple of laughter from Ilaria. "And since when are you a gentleman?"

Anders gave her a cheeky grin. "My dear lady, your good breeding must be rubbing off on me."

"My good breeding... do I look like a horse to you?" she bantered, mussing his hair.

"Hey, now!" Anders jumped up, smoothing his rumpled hair as he rose.

Ilaria shook her head, a rueful grin on her face. "Well, Neria, my dove, I hope your want for stories is satisfied for tonight. I'm going to bed." She rose, stretching. "Are you headed to bed yet?"

Neria gave her a sweet smile. "No, Jowan promised to show me where he hid the cookies in the kitchen before bed."

"Shh..." Jowan tossed a pillow in her direction.

"I'll walk you up," Anders said.

She poked him in the ribs. "Only so long as you don't plan on staying."

He sighed dramatically. "Ah, my unrequited love. Why must you be such a cruel, cruel woman?"

She gave him a gentle shove. "Get marching, lover boy." Giving Neria a kiss on the cheek she told the others good night, Anders echoing her.

After several months of flirting and teasing, he had given up on the idea that Ilaria was going to let him into her bed without more of a commitment than he was willing to give. He had found himself surprisingly content with her friendship since then.

The two of them headed toward the door. He shook his head when Ilaria spoke, her voice full of the open kindness he was so charmed by. "Good night, Cullen."

The templar, finally recovering from his earlier blush, pinked again. "Oh, ah, good night, Ilaria." Anders couldn't help but smirk at the templar as he looped his arm around Ilaria's waist as they exited the room.

Deylan watched Ilaria's face as she was told about Ander's disappearance. This would be his sixth escape from the tower. He'd somehow managed to slip out on a boat that had brought a large store of goods to Kinloch Hold. Her vivid blue green eyes dropped to the floor in disappointment. He wondered briefly if she might cry. Instead, she weakly smiled and mumbled something about how she'd expected he might do this eventually before excusing herself and leaving the room.

He'd known Anders since he'd come to the Circle several years before and he'd never seen him build any sort of relationship like he did with Ilaria. Her willing acceptance made it hard not to like her. Anders had been mentoring Ilaria for over a year now, spending most of the day in one another's company. Deylan knew they didn't spend all their time actually working. In fact, he came across them one day at the top of the tower in a small, open room just off the aviary. They were sitting on the floor, back to back. Ilaria was creating small smoke birds and sending them flying around the room while Anders read to her out of some appallingly awful romance novel. Other times he'd catch them in a staring contest or playing cards. Once, he came into the library to find Ilaria raging at Anders for drawing in the margins of the books. Something about _yes it was very funny that the giant cat was eating the templars but why couldn't that be drawn on parchment _and _it didn't matter that he'd done that years ago because she'd just seen him writing something vulgar inside one of the Chantry books last week._ He felt a distinct lack of surprise over the next few days at Ilaria's despondence.

It was almost two months later when Anders was returned to the Circle. He was immediately carted off to the dungeon. Ilaria spent the first few weeks trying to convince, first Greagoir, and then whichever templar was on guard to let her in to see him. When that failed, Deylan was amused to discover that she'd made a small harness for one of the mousers in the tower, a large tabby Anders had called Mr. Wiggums. They'd tie small notes or treats to the cats belly and he'd toddle off to see Anders.

Over time, Irving convinced Ilaria to start training with Wynne, a senior enchanter who was also a great healer. Deylan noticed that Ilaria spent a great deal of her time helping Wynne with the younger apprentices. She seemed happy again, finding a purpose, but still a little lost somehow. She spent more time with Neria and Jowan, and Neria was often seen looping her arms around Ilaria's neck in comfort.

It was a full year before Knight-Commander Greagoir allowed Anders to be released from solitary confinement. Deylan, Neria and Jowan were quick on Ilaria's heels to see him. As they took in his haggard appearance, Anders gave them a cheeky grin.

"Missed me, did you?"

He was thin, pale and dirty. His hair was far longer than he normally kept it and full of tangles. A scruffy beard covered his chin and there were dark circles under his eyes. Neria stifled a sob, turning her face into Jowan's shoulder.

Anders grin faded and he rested his hands on Neria's thin shoulders, turning her to face him.

"I'm all right. You know, templar cooking is terrible and that's all they'd give me down there." She smiled weakly.

Ilaria square her shoulders, determined not to let Neria worry. "Ugh... you're filthy! Let's get you cleaned up. Neria, dove, maybe you and Jowan could head down to the kitchen and find something to fatten this scarecrow up. We can't let him stay like this... he'd frighten off all the girls," she winked.

Neria nodded, wiping her eyes, and headed off to complete her chore, Jowan in tow. The remaining three didn't speak much as they made their way up to Anders' chambers. Ilaria used her magic to fill the tub with steaming water while Deylan helped Anders undress. She tried to ignore the large, purple bruises exposed when his shirt came off. She waited in the hallway for Anders to wash up. He finished shortly before Neria and Jowan returned with a large platter of food.

The five friends chatted while Anders ate. Ilaria left briefly to find some scissors and a razor. She trimmed his hair and then beard before shaving off all the stubble for him. Noting how tired he was, she shooed everyone out shortly after to allow Anders to rest. She headed off to bed a short time later, unable to keep up the facade that she hadn't been horribly upset to see her best friend so _damaged_. She allowed herself a few moments of crying into her pillow before reminding herself that Anders was still alive and would recover.

She was almost asleep when a shadow entered her chamber. She touched her fingers to the glow stone on the table by her bed, casting the small room into soft light. Anders stood at her bedside, a look on his face that she couldn't quite explain but somehow understood. She scooted to the edge of the bed, pulling her covers open for him. He climbed and lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his head below her chin. She put her arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head softly.

Anders took in her warmth, breathing in the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla on her nightgown or in her hair and tried not to think of the long stretches of dark loneliness behind him. Her soft kiss in his hair surprised him a little but the feeling was quickly lost in _it's so nice to be warm and to feel touch again_. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the soft breaths in and out drowned out the months of silence. He lay awake, afraid that he might wake and find that he'd been dreaming. It was her slender fingers running through his hair that finally soothed him to sleep. He promised himself that this was just a one-time only thing but, night after night, he found himself padding quietly down the hallway to her bed. She'd lift her blankets while he slid in and together they'd drift off to sleep. Neither of them ever spoke a word nor talked about it in daylight.


	6. Blood in the Tower

"Deylan, what were you thinking?" Ilaria asked him again. What was it - the third time? This was so out of character for him. He never did anything stupid or impetuous. That was Anders department. She paused in the process of sorting through the bundle of supplies one of the Tranquil had brought and took a deep calming breath. Crying now wasn't going to help; it would probably just make things worse.

"You would have done the same thing had Jowan approached you first. He loves that girl. He just wanted to make a life with her. Although, I might not have been so willing to help if I'd known about the blood magic."

"Who'd have thought you'd be a secret romantic..." she grumbled.

The stories were flying all over the tower. Jowan had destroyed his phylactery, escaped the templars and had done it with the use of blood magic. Most surprising of all - Deylan Amell, ever serious and steady, had helped him. And all for a Chantry initiate.

Ilaria shook her head in an attempt to clear it, still frantically sorting and folding and finally selecting a heavy cloak and placing it in Deylan's pack. _Jowan was so stupid! Why would he even get involved with and initiate in the first place? He knows it's forbidden and there is enough hanging over mage's heads here. Maybe he thought it would be like the mages who've gotten involved with a templar. Those indiscretions are just swept under the rug. _Deylan's voice interrupted her mental tirade.

"They were going to make him Tranquil, Arie." He rarely used her nickname.

She paused, her shoulders slumping. "I don't want you to go. I've read about the Warden's and darkspawn. And it's a war. I don't want you to die," she said softly.

He turned her to look at him, his knuckles lifting her chin. "I am not going to die. Not yet, anyway. I promise, I'll see you again."

She felt comforted by the look of determination in his eyes. She wrapped her arms tight around his waist for a moment before speaking. "Losing Jowan has been difficult enough. It feels like our family is falling apart. If you die... I'll kill you."

Deylan snorted and shook his head a little. He picked up the pack she'd loaded for him, hefting it onto his shoulders. "Take care of Neria. She's been so quiet since her Harrowing... I just wish I could be here to keep an eye on her with Jowan gone..."

There was a silent pause before they said their farewells. Ilaria watched him walk down the hall toward the stairwell, toward Duncan and the Grey Wardens. She wondered if she really would ever see him again. He was a good candidate for the Wardens. Few mages his age were as skilled in Entropy.

"Maker guide your steps, brother," she whispered as he disappeared down the stairs.

"Why did we let Anders talk us in to squeezing up here again?" Ilaria demanded of Neria. It had been almost two months since Jowan disappeared and Deylan left for the Wardens and Anders seemed to be encouraging them into new forms of trouble. They were belly-down on a ledge high off the floor. Before them was a narrow opening into another room; a room in which the Senior Enchanters and a few others were discussing what had happened at Ostagar.

Neria sighed with a smile. "Because he made the face. You know, the one with the big, sad eyes and the funny little smile..."

"I know. Why do we keep falling for that? It's gotten us in trouble so many times..." her voice trailed off as they slid into the opening.

Once far enough in, they were able to look down and see part of the room. It was difficult to catch everything being said. This room had a strange echo in it and so many of the mages below them were talking. Words and phrases floated up to them. _Wardens dead. Massacre. Support Loghain. Traitor. New regent. Help our cause._ This was followed by an uproar of voices that blocked out any single word until a single voice rose above the clamor.

"Don't be foolish! We will not be slaves to the Chantry any longer!" It was Uldred's voice. Ilaria could feel the massive swell of mana as Uldred began to cast.

"We should go," Neria hissed in her ear.

"Wait... just a minute long..." Ilaria was cut off by Uldred's scream and she sucked in a deep breath of horror. "NO! Out! We have to get out now!" It was difficult for Ilaria to keep her voice low while pushing Neria back. The elfin mage had frozen at the scene below them and now there was more screaming.

As the two women lowered themselves to the floor, Anders was quickly darting around them. "What is going on?"

Ilaria looked at him. She imagined her face was probably as white as Neria's. "Uldred summoned a demon. I... it took him. There are blood mages..." She paused, a new awareness settling in. "Anders, we have to get the children somewhere safe!"

Ilaria had spent much of the last two years working on basic spells with the younger apprentices; and some of them were so young. She took off toward the door, Anders and Neria close on her heels.

Down the hallway, just far enough around the curve of the tower that they couldn't see, the sounds of battle could be heard spilling out of the meeting room. The metal tang of blood was already in the air. Templars were beginning to stream toward the fight. The three young mages were almost to the stairwell when Ilaria's arm was gripped by a strong hand.

"Ilaria, what has happened?" It was Cullen.

It wasn't until the templar had steadied her that she realized she was shaking. "Uldred summoned a demon. There are blood mages... We're trying to get to the children."

Cullen cast a concerned look down the hallway towards the sounds of pain and death. "Get the apprentices and barricade yourself in somewhere secure. I'll come find you when it's safe." Ilaria was a little unsettled by the tender look he gave her and then Neria before charging toward the clang of battle, sword drawn.

When they reached the large classroom two floors down, the children were huddled together. Only one senior mage, Torrin, was still present with them. After a quick, hushed explanation, Torrin directed them to a storage room further down the hall to guard the children in. He left with the intent of helping his fellow mages.

Anders lead the children out of the room. As the last child left, Ilaria and Neria followed them out into the hallway. Faint screaming could be heard coming from the floor above. As the children were shepherded into the room by Anders, Neria and Ilaria kept anxious watch. As the final child entered the room, Anders called out to the women.

"Come on you two!" There was an urgency in his tone that was so foreign to his voice.

As Ilaria turned to Anders, there was a strange rush of magic and a gravelly voice. "Here you are, my lovelies. Lambs to the slaughter."

She whipped her head around in time to see an abomination thrust its clawed hand through Neria's torso, bloody fingers flexing out of her back. Time seemed to slow almost to a stopping point. Neria's tiny body arched around a thick, gray arm before whipping back and falling heavily to the floor. Anders was calling out somewhere in the background but all Ilaria could hear was a rushing in her ears that was filling her, first, with anguish and then blind rage.

She'd never cast a fire spell so quickly before. The demon-possessed mage had barely turned its gaze on her before it was consumed by white hot fire leaving the sickly scent of burnt flesh in the air and she was on her knees in a pool of hot sticky red calling to Neria, shaking her shoulders.

"You have to get up! There will be more of them. Neria, please!" she sobbed. Neria's violet eyes looked sightlessly away. It was Anders strong hands pulling on her arms that finally ended the rushing.

"Ilaria, she's gone. She's gone. Look at me." Ilaria lifted tear-filled eyes to his face. His hands cupped her jaw gently and he brushed a tear away with his thumb. "We have to go."

She nodded her assent. "Anders, we can't leave her here. Please, I don't want them to... do anything to her." A cold determination was visible in her eyes.

Anders reached down and gently lifted the small, still form. Ilaria tore a large strip of fabric from the bottom of her robes and covered the gaping wound. Before Anders could walk away, she gently kissed Neria's forehead.

"I'll shield the door," Ilaria said as they entered the room. She watched Anders carry Neria's body to the back of the room and could see from the stiff set of his shoulders how difficult it was for him to hold his emotion in check. Sweet little Neria: so innocent, gentle, gone. Ilaria hoped Anders would forgive her for what she was going to do. She took a step back so that she was just outside the doorway and began casting. She saw Anders turn to look at her just as the shield came up, a horrified look on his face. He ran to the doorway, slamming his fists once on the shield.

"Ilaria, what are you doing? Get back in here!" he yelled through the shimmery film between them.

Ilaria pressed her hand against the shield, a sad look on her face. "I can keep you safe out here... and I might be able to help the others."

Anders was shaking his head, mumbling, "No, no, no..."

"Anders, you are the only one left. You're my family. If you died..." Her jaw clenched. "The children need to be taken care of. The key is still in the door. Lock the door. I'll come back when it's over."

She could see the defeat in his face. He lifted his hand and pressed it opposite hers. "Please, don't go," he said so softly she almost didn't hear it, his forehead coming to rest against the shield.

She rested her hand over his face for a moment. "I'll be back," she whispered and then ran down the hallway.


	7. Cleansing

Alistair had never seen Deylan so unnerved. Deylan had proved himself to be steady and calm in the last several weeks, dealing with undead in Redcliffe and werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, but the current state of the Circle tower had unhinged something in him. Since coming across Wynne, his fellow Warden had been furtively checking the bodies wearing mages robes. Each one seemed to relieve him and then unsettle him in the next moment. He hadn't spoken much of the Circle or his time there but Alistair got the distinct impression that he was looking for someone or, perhaps, several someones. Deylan's behavior was setting Alistair on edge. It seemed the pretty bard, Leliana, was feeling the same way.

They were several floors up in the tower when a swell of magic nearby set a the familiar tingling sensation through Alistair. He was about to tell Deylan about his sensing magic when a door just down the hall exploded outward. Wooden splinters flew in all directions quickly followed by an abomination engulfed in flames. The used-to-be-mage was pinned against a wall by a force unseen until a small woman walked out of the splintered door, her face a mask of rage and hurt. The lower half of her robes had been torn off leaving her legs bare to just above the knee. Three large tears across her abdomen exposed torn flesh, partially healed, oozing thick, red blood where it had torn open again. Her feet were bare and her exposed skin was covered in bruises and cuts. She stopped a mere foot away from her target.

"Pathetic mage, I will destroy you!" came a gravely roar from the tortured creature against the wall.

"Not today," came the cold reply. Her hand jerked upright and the abomination was riddled with thick icicles, bottom to top. Her hand lowered and the abomination dropped lifeless to the floor, covering her feet in thick, red blood. She stood motionless until Deylan called out.

"Arie?"

Alistair startled slightly at the sound of his fellow Warden's voice. He'd never heard so much emotion from him before. This was something between a sob and relief.

The mage jerked, turning toward them, staff ready. Magic swelled around her rapidly and then dissipated as recognition washed over her face.

"Deylan?" she squeaked. There was a moment of hesitation, as if she were checking her senses, before she ran toward the man, throwing herself into his embrace. He held her tightly for a moment before pushing her back to look at her face.

Her eyes were brilliant, full of unshed tears of relief and anguish. She was shaking and filthy. The long braid hanging down her back was caked with blood. She'd left a trail of small, red foot prints in her haste down the hall.

"Arie, are you alright?" Deylan asked, his voice colored with concern.

She smiled weakly at him. "A little banged up, but I'm okay." She stared at him in wonder for a moment. "I thought... They said all the Wardens were dead. How are you here?" She reached up and touched the side of his face as if checking to make sure he was tangible.

"Alistair and I were... saved. We can talk about that later. You're injured. Wynne," he turned to the elderly mage, "can you heal her?"

Ilaria seemed to notice that there were others nearby for the first time. "Wynne, you're alright. I saw you fall and I thought for sure that you were gone."

"I'm fine, child. Don't fuss over me. Let's see to you injuries." She pressed the young woman to a seat on the stone bench against the wall.

Alistair watched Ilaria relax in the warm glow of Wynne's healing. It was always fascinating to see wounds close as if they had never been there. The long gashes in Ilaria's abdomen sealed up till only thick, pink lines of new skin evidenced that any injury had ever been present while the bruises slowly faded: purple to green to yellow and disappeared. As Wynne finished the healing spell, Deylan knelt next to Ilaria.

"Arie," he asked in a gentle tone, "where are Anders and Neria?"

She stared at him blankly for several moments. "Anders is locked in the storage room two floors down with all the younger apprentices. We were able to get them there before... when everything started happening." She paused, unwilling or unable to continue.

"And Neria?"

Bright blue-green eyes rose to dark brown ones. Her jaw clenched and she swallowed. "Neria... she..." Her head dropped. "She's gone." One glittering tear made a track through the blood and grim caked on her cheek.

In an unexpected show of tenderness, Deylan kissed the top of Ilaria's head, stroking tendrils of hair pulled lose back. After several moments of silence, he said, "Come, let's take you back to Anders. You can wait with him there."

Ilaria's head jerked up. "NO! Deylan, I'm coming with you. You _need_ me. My magic is meant for battle. Let me help. Please! I... I can't just sit waiting... not knowing..."

He studied her face and sighed. "It would be illogical for me to refuse your help. I know your abilities and based on what we've seen so far, we could use your help."

Alistair clenched his jaw to keep back a flood of comments about not needing any more mages along for the ride. Something in this particular mage's magic had felt _strange_ to him: Deylan's magic was controlled and steady, Morrigan's felt dark and forceful, Wynne's was calm and measured. But this... Ilaria's magic felt wild and emotional. Something about it gave him the distinct impression of the ocean; calm and even one moment, raging and deadly the next.

As if she sensed his thoughts, her head rose and her vivid blue-green eyes met his amber eyes. For a moment he felt immobilized by her gaze. "You must be the other Warden." It was an exclamation, not a question.

"Yes, I'm Alistair."

She inclined her head. "My father was a great admirer of the Grey Wardens. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Ilaria... as you probably heard."

Before he could respond, her eyes moved past him. "This is Leliana," Deylan explained. The women greeted each other in a brief but friendly manner.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" Wynne asked Ilaria.

"A day or two."

As Deylan reached into his pack, Ilaria shook her head and raised a hand to stop him.

"No, Deylan. I'm fine. I don't know if I can keep anything down. I've been taking a lot of lyrium."

Alistair watched Deylan stiffen. Lyrium was addictive. Taking too much at once was dangerous.

"How much have you had?" Deylan asked.

Ilaria's eyes scanned his face for a moment before she responded. She must have been able to see the concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine. I haven't had that much. Just enough to keep going. I've had to use a lot of magic to keep myself safe. I've been able to hide and get some sleep but never for long enough to feel restored. I've only had a few vials and it's been over several days." She smiled weakly. "Let's go. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can rest," her smile grew slightly wider, "and eat... and maybe find some clothes without so many holes."

Deylan's shoulders relaxed, he nodded and they continued on. Hours later, the weary party was just a few floors below the Harrowing Chamber at the top of the tower. Ilaria had led most of the way. She knew the way and her shield spell would block almost any hit and most magic. Alistair was beginning to find her sinuous movements combined with an unusually substantial swath of bare skin distracting. Even the way she placed her feet was a distraction. As they checked room after room, she'd tiptoe several paces ahead on silent feet as if dancing. Her movements were similar to Leliana's but still uniquely her own. He knew part of the distraction was due to fatigue. Even his years of discipline couldn't hold up all the time.

"There," Ilaria said pointing to a heavy wooden door. "The stairs to the top of the tower are in that room." She pressed open the door a walked in. Alistair almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly a few feet in. There was a short entryway into the room which blocked the view of part of the room until it was passed. Stepping ahead of her, Alistair could see what had stopped her - another abomination. Something about this one seemed different that those they had met previously. He felt weighted as the creature's gaze settled on him.

"Ah, look. Visitors. I'd entertain you but... too much effort involved," the gravelly voice rolled toward them.

"A demon of sloth," Ilaria whispered. The fact that she hadn't blasted the monster with fire the moment she saw him alerted Alistair that there truly was something different here.

Deylan's voice was soft, just behind him. "That's Niall."

Alistair almost missed the inert form on the floor at the abomination's feet. He was lying on his back, breathing but his eyes were open, staring sightlessly toward the ceiling.

"He's just resting. Poor lad, he was so very, very weary. You want to join us, don't you. Wouldn't you like to just lay down and... forget about all this? Leave it all behind?" the creature soothed.

Alistair felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. He'd never felt so tired before. His body seemed to be out of his control. "Can't... keep eyes open. Someone... pinch... me." He collapsed heavily to the floor trying to force his eyes open. He could hear Wynne behind him. _What is she saying?_ he wondered. _Something about resist... Resist what?_ He could see Ilaria on the floor a few feet away from him, her had reached toward him, almost touching his face.

"Why do you fight? You deserve more... You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you," the creature spoke.

"Don't... go to sleep..." was all he heard before everything went dark.

Ilaria watched Alistair's eyes close and felt despair wash over her. She couldn't move. Her hand was resting lightly against the sleeping Warden's stubbly chin but she couldn't find the strength to try to wake him or even to speak. She began to drift toward the Fade, her willpower failing her.

_You will not sleep now, mage. _She knew that voice. How many times had she heard it over the last several years? Every time she was weak it came. _We cannot prevent the spell cast on you but I can keep you from its prison but you must fight! Do not close your eyes!_

Ilaria forced her eyes open. She still could not will herself to move but she focused on the only thing in her line of sight, Alistair's face. She forced herself to examine him to keep herself awake. She tried focusing her energy toward him, wanting him to wake, wanting anyone to wake. After a while, the moments blurred together and she simply waited, cold and weak on the stone floor.

Deylan fought his way through the demon's prison, vanquishing one foe after another, freeing first Wynne, then Leliana and Alistair from their own dreams. Five demons had been defeated before there was a way open to the sloth demon that held them captive and he still could not find her in this maze. Over and over he would hear her voice calling, "Wake up." It was always echoing, indistinct. He could never locate where it was coming from. Sometimes he thought he'd see her at the edge of his vision but when he would turn she wouldn't be there.

The battle with the sloth demon was challenging but over more quickly than he expected. He imagined the demon was weakened with each dream that was destroyed. The moment the demon died, his vision flashed to darkness and then he found himself opening his eyes as he lay on the floor of the tower. The others were stirring around him as well, slowly shaking off sleep. He was relieved to see Ilaria rise.

"I couldn't find you," he whispered to her while the others prepared to continue. Her expression was guarded when she replied.

"I... didn't sleep. I was able to stay awake but I couldn't move or speak."

Deylan was puzzled. "How were you able to resist? That was an incredibly powerful spell."

She turned away as she spoke. "The demon must have been stretching too far to compel all of us to sleep. He probably would have gotten me eventually." She walked toward the stairs. Deylan couldn't shake the feeling that she was hiding something from him.

They were almost to the top of the tower. Just a half flight of stairs in the next room stood between them and their goal. They were stopped by the sight of a powerful shield made prison. Ilaria approached the shimmering wall, using her magic to study it. Through the rippling wall she could see several motionless bodies on the floor. A single form paced within. He turned and brown eyes in a familiar face met hers.

"Cullen? Are you alright?" she asked, rushing forward.

"This trick again?" he exclaimed. "I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong..." he said, dropping to his knees, preparing to pray.

"Cullen, it's me..."

Wynne stepped up to her side. "The boy is exhausted," she said, her tone riddled with sympathy.

"I've never seen anything like this... cage before. It surpasses my shield ten times over. I cannot break it," Ilaria told her mentor.

Wynne directed her attention back to the caged templar. "Rest easy... help is here."

"Enough visions! If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs... Sifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the things I always wanted but could never have. Using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with mages... mages, of all things! Two beautiful women... both so different but each so sweet... and always together..." He sobbed. "I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks... these..."

"Cullen," Ilaria soothed, trying to control the blush rising to her cheeks. She knew that Cullen had shown interest in Neria but she never suspected that her kindness toward him had flamed feelings toward her as well. "This isn't a trick. I'm going to..."

"Silence!" he demanded, rising to his feet. I'll not listen to anything you say! Now, begone!" She watched him squeeze his eyes shut. She remained silent, searching for something to say that could take away the hurt he was feeling. Several moments passed before he opened his eyes, a wild, panicked look to them. "Still here? But that's always worked before." He ran a hand over his face. "I close my eyes but you are still here when I open them."

"Cullen," she said again, trying to focus his attention. "I'm really here. Whatever they did to you, I think..."

"I am beyond caring what you think!" he shouted. "The Maker knows my sin, and I pray he will forgive me."

Ilaria felt a wave of sadness and sympathy wash over her. Regardless of how he felt toward her, she didn't want his memories of Neria tainted. Neria was gone. "What you felt wasn't wrong..." she said, trying to soothe him.

"It was foolish fancy of a naive boy," he said, bitterness leaking into his tone. "I know better now. They caged us like animals... looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left... They turned some into... monsters. And... there was nothing I could do." Ilaria could hear the barely chocked back sobs in his voice.

"Cullen... I'm sor..."

He interrupted, raging again. "And to think, I once thought we were too hard on you. Only mages have that much power at their fingertips. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons."

Ilaria turned her gaze back to Deylan. He must have seen the desperation in her eyes. He came and stood beside her.

"Enough, Cullen. You must calm yourself," he said in a firm, soft voice.

She watched Cullen's gaze flicker to Deylan, seeing him for the first time. "You... Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?"

"This was my home. Is it really so surprising?" he replied.

"As it was mine. And look what they've done to it! They deserve to die. Uldred most of all," the templar snapped.

"Where are the other mages?"

"They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there... oh, Maker... You can't save them! You don't know what they've become." Ilaria could see Cullen was becoming frantic again.

"There are still three mages before you," she stated softly.

"You haven't been up there. You haven't been under their influence. They've been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts," he wailed.

Alistair spoke for the first time, his voice, though hushed, startled her. "His hatred of mages is so intense... the memory of his friends' deaths is still so fresh in his mind." She felt tears building in her eyes. She'd watched mages and templars die over the last few days, some of them friends but she had been able to fight back. To have been trapped, unable to fight, watching friends tortured, dying... the thought tore at her.

Deylan's fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling her toward the stairs leading to the Harrowing Chamber. She gave Cullen on last anguished look before turning and following the others.

"You have to end it now! Before it's too late. To ensure this horror is ended... to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there!" he called after them. Ilaria took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come.

Cullen began pacing again as the weight of the Harrowing Chamber door shut behind Ilaria and the others. After several moments of silence, a loud roar shook the room and he could hear the sounds of battle swelling. For a long time the shouts and cries were indiscernible but then he heard something that broke through the haze of rage and anguish - Ilaria's cry of pain. Memories of her began to swell, unbidden, as he dropped to the floor, hands over his ears.

The first time he saw her, pulling her from the filthy prison floor, her eyes frightened but determined blurred into a memory of standing, shoulders squared before the Knight-Commander, unshakable. And then, the sound of her laugh as it rolled out of her, like soft chimes, all warmth and pleasure. The way her lips quirked before she really smiled...

Her lips... A new wave of memories surged forth, memories of more recent times. Memories that never really happened. Her warm, soft lips meeting his, running over his jaw, down his neck and bare chest, lower... Long, slender fingers tantalizing, teasing... Pale, ivory skin glowing, inviting his touch... Her standing exposed before him, enticing him with her eyes and gestures. Neria standing beside her, their hands exploring each other for him to see.

"No, no, no, no..." he said over and over. Trying to force away the demon dreams. Then the most painful of all came crashing full force over him. Ilaria and Neria flicked in his vision, each filling the roll, his longing never settling on one or the other.

They would be standing, staring into the setting sun, wind rippling through long, loose hair. A smiling face would turn to him as he approached. His eyes would follow the silhouette down to the full swell of a belly ripe with child. His child.

Cullen allowed the tortured sobs to overtake him. There were no more demons before him to tempt him with this sweetest dream but he would never be free of it and now it was tainted by their touch. He'd been so certain when he took his vows but his blossoming feelings had unlocked a dream within him he never knew he carried. Had it been anyone but a mage...

After a few minutes, his crying dissipated and then stopped altogether. He remained kneeling on the floor, willing it to end, one way or another, when suddenly, his glimmering cage disappeared and he was free. _Uldred is dead, _he thought. He rose and rushed up the stairs, bursting through the door in time to see Ilaria lifting herself from the floor. Her lip was split and bleeding, and she held her arm against her body gently. It looked broken. When she began to walk toward the First Enchanter who was, miraculously still alive, she limped and winced. A river of relief flowed through him but he couldn't help feeling that it would be better if she were dead. He turned, unseen and ran down through the tower, unsure of what he might find.


	8. Goodbye

Anders had lost complete track of time. The storage room he was holed up in with nine children had no window so there was no reliable way to count the days. He was guessing it was three days, maybe four, since Ilaria had locked him in and ran off. The shield over the door way was still humming softly, its eerie purple light pulsing under the closed door, so he assumed she was still alive. It would fall if she...

He froze Neria's body slightly the first day to prevent it from decaying. He was beginning to think now that bringing her body in had been a bad idea. The children had avoided the corner where he'd laid her down behind some crates. He wasn't sure how to explain to them that everything was going to be okay because he was beginning to believe it wasn't. Telling silly stories and singing songs in an attempt to distract them from the fear that hung heavy in the air proved exhausting. When the children finally slept and he was just drifting off he noticed that there was no more humming, no soft light coming under the doorway. The shield was gone. He froze, unable to move with the possibility of what it meant.

He was startled by a few solid thumps on the door. He reached for his staff as a familiar voice called out.

"Anders, it's Deylan. Unlock the door. It's over."

A few of the children whimpered in fear but Anders bolted to the door. The thought that it could be a demon impersonating Deylan briefly crossed his mind but it was quickly consumed by the idea that Ilaria was dying somewhere and maybe he could save her. He couldn't believe she was dead. It just wasn't possible. Anders ripped open the door, almost expecting anything but Deylan would be standing there. The relief that washed over him when he recognized his friend standing outside the door covered in gore and grime and looking completely exhausted nearly made him stagger.

Deylan smiled weakly, "Hello, old friend."

Anders hugged him quickly before pressing him back at arm's length. "Where is Arie?"

Deylan sniggered and shook his head. "Figures you'd ask about her first. She's fine. She's resting downstairs. They've made an infirmary out of the enter..."

Anders ran off before Deylan could finish. He'd taken just enough notice of Wynne to know that the children would be taken care of. He sprinted down stairs and through hallways, ignoring the carnage around him. It wasn't until he reached the library that he slowed. He recognized the face of an apprentice, just fourteen years old. He paused for a moment, taking in everything that had happened while he'd been safely locked away before moving sedately toward the make-shift infirmary.

As he entered the round, open room, he took in how few were left, mage and templar both. Cullen was standing against the wall beside Knight-Commander Greagoir, glaring at the a small figure across the room. Anders followed Cullen's gaze to Ilaria. There was blood on her chin from a thick split in her lip. Her right arm rested gingerly in her lap. The right side of her face was darkening to a swollen, livid purple. Her eyes were closed. He moved toward her, edging around others laying on the floor. He took in what was left of her robes. Both sleeves had been torn off to the elbows and her legs were bare to the knee and the fabric covering her abdomen was gone. Three thick pink lines were the only evidence of the injury that had been there.

As he reached her, he dropped to his knees beside her, gently reaching out with one hand to cup her undamaged cheek. Her eyes flickered open, meeting his. Tears rose in her eyes as the corners of her lips turned up.

"Anders," she breathed, her hand rising to cover his.

Anders looked at her, forcing back the tears beginning to burn in his eyes. _She is still alive, _he reminded himself. _The rest I can fix._

He sighed dramatically. "Gone out and had fun without me again, I see."

She snorted and then winced. "Next time you can go play with the abominations and I'll stay home with the kids."

He chuckled. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I've had better days..."

"Let's get you fixed up. I'm going to need you to lay down so I can assess the damage," he said gently.

Her body shook slightly in what he recognized as a smothered sob. He hadn't realized she was in so much pain. He quickly cast a weak spell that would block the worst of it until he could heal her. She relaxed slightly and allowed him to help her lay back on the cold stones. Her eyes closed as he gestured over her, working a spell that would let him know where she was injured and how badly. He grimaced as he finished. For as banged up as she looked, the majority of the damage was internal.

"Arie," he said. Her eyes opened and met his. "As I'm sure you know, your arm is broken as well as several ribs. Your ankle has some fine cracks in it and there's some bleeding in your stomach. I'm going to have to fix that first."

She looked up at him, a weak smile playing over his face. "Just fix what you have to and move on to the others. I'm not the only one hurt." She paused for a moment before adding, "Just... put me to sleep before you go."

Anders flashed his most charming smile at her, hoping to lighten the mood. "Well, sweetheart, I thought you'd never ask. Although, my methods of helping you sleep are generally performed in a more private setting." He winked at her.

"Anders, if I didn't hurt so much right now..." she pretended to threaten. This was what their relationship had been for the last three years; innuendo masking deeper feelings that neither of them dared touch on. Ilaria had always been open to the possibility of a deeper relationship one day but Anders fear of what the templars could take from him ensured that he kept an emotional distance between them; it had developed into a stretch of vast, forbidden territory that neither would risk entering.

"Sleep now," he whispered to her, casting a spells that caused her to quickly drop into a restful sleep. He examined her restful face for several moments before beginning a series of spells to heal her battered body.

Ilaria woke slowly. Judging by the faint daylight creeping through the windows high in the room she guessed it was just before dawn. She'd slept through the night and, after Anders adept ministrations, felt completely recovered. Her attention was drawn by hushed voices in the hallway toward the library.

She rose silently, wrapping the blanket around her like a cloak and tiptoed around the many sleeping bodies. It wasn't until she reached the doorway that she was able to place the voices as belonging to the Knight-Commander and Cullen.

"They are a danger to all and should be dealt with quickly. I do not understand why you stay your hand, Knight-Commander." Cullen's quiet voice was filled with the rage and pain of the last several days.

"I have made my decision, Cullen, and you would do well to abide by it," Greagoir replied. His tone expressed his displeasure and a desire to be finished with the conversation.

"Knight-Commander, any of them could be harboring a demon within. We cannot risk..."

Greagoir's voice interrupted Cullen's protest. "This discussion is over. I have made my decision and I will not be swayed. The mages remaining within the Circle are under my protection and I will bear responsibility for the consequences."

Ilaria could see Cullen's jaw clench as he stalked past the Knight-Commander into the library. Greagoir pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Ilaria felt sympathy for him. He was a hard and unforgiving man but he fulfilled his responsibilities to the best of his ability and would not allow any to second guess him. He had personally trained many of the templars who's bodies now lay without the tower walls, prepared for the pyre. He knew each mage who had died by name. Ilaria felt the weight of his burden.

"Knight-Commander," she called out in soft, warm tones.

The aging man raised his head, looking in her direction.

"Ilaria, it seems Anders has done well. You appeared to be fully recovered."

"Yes, thank you." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "I... I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate your decision to allow the Circle the opportunity to recover. It couldn't have been a simple choice to make."

Greagoir sighed. "I could not condone the slaughter of innocents," he stated.

Ilaria had developed a great deal of respect for this man in the last three years. She had the sudden realization that she would miss him when she left the tower. With a heavy heart she bid him farewell.

"Good day, Knight-Commander."

"And to you," he responded.

As she started in the direction of the library, his words stopped her momentarily.

"I would avoid the young templar within. Cullen will be... scarred after this incident. He is not the mad you knew." Greagoir's face held an infinite sadness.

"Thank you for the warning, Knight-Commander," she replied and continued to the library.

Cullen was pacing near the library's summoning font. Ilaria's approach caused him to stop and turn toward her. She was like a ghost gliding in surrounded by memories, both real and demon-born. Her expression was a sadness tinged with concern. He couldn't help the unwelcome thought that it made her lips seem fuller and more inviting. He turned from her, the Chant of Light silently spilling from his lips.

"Cullen..."

_Maker! Even her voice is a torment!_ he thought. He continued his pacing avoiding her gaze.

"Cullen," she said, a little louder. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry? And you think that means something coming from you? You're harboring a demon for all I know!" His voice was full of rage, barely controlled and just quiet enough to avoid drawing unwelcome attention.

He turned to her to see an expression on her face as if he had slapped her. He had never spoken unkindly to her before.

"I... I am not the best company now. I just... I wish..." He sighed. "Please, just leave me be. Go back to Neria and Anders." He turned he back to her, trying to hide the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I can't. That is..." There was a small choking sound that he realized was a strangled sob. "Neria is dead. She was killed the first day. An abomination..."

His shoulders fell a little. Neria, sweet, innocent Neria. Suddenly it wasn't just the faces of his templar brothers that passed behind his closed eyes. Now there were the faces of the mages who had died without turning to blood magic, who hadn't been possessed.

"Ilaria, I..." he began.

She interrupted. "It's okay, Cullen. Everyone lost today." There was a long pause before she continued. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the face. "I hope that what happened won't color your opinion of all mages. Good bye, Cullen, and thank you. I'll never forget your kindness."

He listened to her soft footsteps fade away before losing his tenuous hold on control and braking into silent tears.

Anders woke from sleep to see Ilaria's face above him. Early morning sunlight lit around her head like a halo. He was struck by how beautiful she looked. He idly wondered why he had hesitated to pursue a relationship with her. He knew that he cared for her more than he was willing to admit but what if he did admit it? He had an amusing thought of them running away to Tevinter together and living in a little cottage with dozens of cats. He was about to tell her when he noticed her expression. Her face was tender and full of grief and... what? Regret?

"Anders, I came to say... good bye."

_Good bye?_ He noticed then that she was wearing a heavy traveling cloak. A few moments of examination showed sturdy boots and other traveling gear. He sat up quickly, nearly hitting her head with his own.

"What do you mean, 'Good bye?'" he demanded. _No! I must have heard wrong. She can't be leaving. Not now. I'd be... alone._

The look on her face broke his heart. He could she how much it was hurting her.

"Why are you leaving?" Anders did his best to keep his voice level and calm.

Twin pools met his eyes. They were dry now, but he could see she'd been crying. She smiled weakly.

"I can't stay... not anymore. I'm going with Deylan. I might be of some use... fighting the Blight."

He ducked his head, wanting to hid his face from her penetrating gaze. Her delicate hands cupped his chin. They were cool to the touch and so painfully familiar.

"I'm sorry, Anders. I'll be back. I promise!" Her voice had a desperation to it he'd never heard before and he knew what she needed from him. He reached out, wrapping his arms securely around her, and pulled her close. After a brief hug, he pressed her back, looking her in the eye.

"I understand. Besides, I'll catch up with you the next time I take my... unauthorized vacation." He smiled warmly.

Her lips quirked in the familiar half smile he was so accustomed to. "I'm going to miss you."

Before he could respond, her soft lips pressed briefly against his. Then she turned and darted away without another word. Anders watched her leave, a lump building in his throat. He allowed a moment to feel sorry for himself before rising and beginning to check on those who were still injured, his cheeky grin glued into place to prevent the inevitable falling apart if he dwelt on how alone he really was.


	9. Redcliffe

Alistair paced on the shore below the Circle Tower, the biting winter wind whipping around him making the water froth. He was impatient to leave. They had already been away from Redcliffe for four days. He was trying not to imagine all of the possible worst case scenarios with the Connor-demon still lose in the castle. A trader who had stopped at the Circle was going to ferry them back to Redcliffe on his boat. The journey would be much shorter this way. They'd be there before nightfall.

Deciding that enough time had passed for Deylan to be ready to leave, Alistair headed back to the boat. He arrived in time to see Ilaria stepping on board with her pack, her long, dark hair whipping in the wind. It took him only a moment to find his fellow Warden.

"Deylan, might I have a moment."

Deylan nodded and followed Alistair down the shore. When Alistair felt they were out of earshot from the boat, he turned to his brother-at-arms.

"What is _she_ doing here?"

Non-pulsed, Deylan replied, "By _she_ I am assuming you mean Ilaria." Alistair nodded his assent. "She offered her help; I agreed."

"Do you really think it's _wise_ to bring another mage along? It's easy enough to explain Wynne and your presence, Wynne being a healer and you a Grey Warden but... well... We already have an apostate traveling with us."

Deylan grinned slightly. "Ilaria is a powerful mage. Her battle skills are impressive. Besides, she can't be an apostate."

Alistair hoped he didn't look as confused as he felt.

Shaking his head, Deylan began to start back to the boat. "Ask her where she comes from; then you'll understand."

Alistair paused for a moment, trying to puzzle out what Deylan meant. Leliana's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Alistair, the boat is ready to leave."

The Warden headed back down the shore to the boat. While most of the passengers had gone below deck to escape the bitter wind, Alistair noticed Ilaria standing at the prow. Her cloak was pulled tight around her. The thick braid down her back rippled in the wind. He leaned against the port side rail wanting to observe her without disturbing her. He noticed that her face turned upward toward the sky and it occurred to him that this was very likely the first time she'd been outside for some time. He felt a pang of sympathy. During his templar training, he'd seen some of what mages experienced but he'd never really thought about what it would be like to be a mage. To be locked away, hidden from the world, removed from home and family... He felt a sudden understanding of why she would want to leave the security of the Circle. Especially after what she experienced the last week. He still didn't care for the idea of traveling with so many mages but he determined that he would be tolerant. After all, she couldn't be as awful as Morrigan.

He turned and looked out over the vast expanse of Lake Calenhad. Worry creased his brow as he thought of Connor, still possessed, back in Redcliffe and of Arl Eamon, lying deathly ill somewhere in the castle. He sent a silent prayer to the Maker that they were returning in time and that the defenses Morrigan and Sten had been left behind to make had been enough to protect what was left of the village he grew up in.

As the sleek boat sailed out into choppy waters, Ilaria began to wonder if this was the right thing to do. She didn't doubt that she needed to leave but she was beginning to feel the guilt of leaving Anders within the Circle. It was so unfair to leave him now, with Neria dead, Deylan a Warden and Jowan on the run. The little family that they had made completely scattered, never to be the same again. Unshed tears pooled in her eyes and she fought to hold them back.

_I cannot be weak now! There will be time for tears later._ She took a deep breath, the cold air filling her with the resolve she needed not to break. She allowed her thoughts to linger on Anders a moment longer and tried to comfort herself with the idea that he would probably not stay at the Circle long in any case. He was due for another escape attempt. The idea that his escape would probably just end with him holed up at The Pearl in Denerim until the templars caught up, as it had last time, caused her to shake her head, a rueful smirk on her face.

The spray off Lake Calenhad was beginning to seep into her cloak making the wind agonizingly cold. Realizing that it would be foolish to stay out in this weather, she turned to head below deck. She was only halfway down the starboard deck when she noticed Alistair leaning over the port side rail, staring out over the white-capped waves. The stiff set of his shoulders told her that he was worried. She turned to head below when her own loneliness struck her and she wondered why he would be standing out her alone instead of below decks with Deylan and Leliana. They had all seemed friendly enough.

Ilaria pulled her hood up over her damp hair crossed over the deck, finally stopping to stand beside Alistair at the rail. She remained silent for a moment, admiring the dark clouds building over the lake, foretelling a storm.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said softly.

"A storm is rolling in," he responded without turning to her. "We should just make it to Redcliffe before it hits."

"I'm glad of that." There was a period of silence that for some reason wasn't uncomfortable. Ilaria looked up and the man beside her. He was nearly a foot taller than she was and thickly muscled; he had to be to move around in the heavy plate armor he wore. His head was bare and in the soft light she couldn't quite tell but she thought his hair was a dark strawberry-blonde. When he turned and looked at her with his liquid amber eyes, she felt her stomach flutter. He was much more attractive now that he wasn't covered in gore. Focusing on why she'd come over here to begin with, she gently asked, "Are you alright? You seem... tense."

The grin he gave her was an ineffective cover for the concern he was feeling. "You're worried about little, old me? Aww... that's sweet," he teased.

His tone and grin forced a half smile to her lips. Anders would have deflected her in the same way. "Very well, you don't have to tell me. Just offering..."

He sobered slightly before saying, "Thanks. I'm just... wondering what we'll find in Redcliffe when we get back."

"Deylan told me a little about Redcliffe. He mentioned that you knew the Arl and his family. I'm sorry. This must be difficult."

Alistair just nodded. He picked at a splinter of wood on the railing, then asked, "So what's your story?"

"My story?" she chuckled softly. "What has Deylan told you?"

"Nothing really. He hasn't really talked about the Circle much. He mentioned once that he left some friends behind. I'm assuming he meant you. That's about all he said."

Ilaria nodded. "That's sounds like Deylan. You don't get much out of him unless it's necessary." She looked out over the water again. "Yes, he meant me... and a few others. Anders is still back at the Circle. Jowan is on the run... somewhere. And Neria..." The tears burned in her eyes again. "She's gone." She sighed. "Our little _family_ scattered by cruel fate, it seems."

She turned to look at Alistair to find him studying her, an odd look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Did you say Jowan?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's odd. I could have sworn that the maleficar in Redcliffe was named Jowan."

Ilaria started. "There is a maleficar in Redcliffe named Jowan?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what Deylan called him," Alistair began but Ilaria had already turned and run to the hatch that would take her below deck. Throwing open the hatch, she ran down the stairs, taking them as quickly as the rocking boat would allow her. The turmoil roiling in her prevented her from enjoying the heat within the belly of the boat and allowed her to ignore the pungent smell of fish. She found Deylan sitting at a table talking to Leliana and Wynne.

"Deylan, is Jowan in Redcliffe?" Her question came out more harshly than she intended.

Though his face remained as impassive as always, she could see a shadow come to his eyes that told her this was something he'd hoped to keep from her. He sighed.

"Yes, Arie, Jowan is in Redcliffe." His voice was level and matter-of-fact.

Hurt swept over her. "Why didn't you tell me?" she choked out.

"Because, it wouldn't change anything." Her eyes drilled into him, pressing the confusion and hurt she felt. "Jowan is a maleficar. He was sent to Redcliffe to poison the Arl. I'm not entirely sure how much he is to blame for what has befallen Redcliffe." He rose and came to stand before her, looking down at her gently. "There's nothing we can do to save him, Arie. He's nearly killed an Arl and was secretly teaching magic. Nothing that we say or do now would prevent the Chantry's justice."

Ilaria looked up at Deylan. Though his face was solemn and composed, her familiarity allowed her to see the pain in his dark-brown eyes and she realized that his hands were tied. Jowan had made is choices and they would have to abide by the consequences unless they wished to share them.

Ilaria's shoulders fell in defeat and, in an uncharacteristically tender gesture, Deylan wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in close to him. She didn't allow herself the luxury of tears but took comfort in the warm, steadiness of her friend. She was so wrapped in her grief that she didn't hear Alistair clomp down the stairs or see the look of concern he exchanged with Deylan.

Morrigan felt a wave of relief as Deylan and the others, including several Circle mages, entered Redcliffe castle. They'd been gone for nearly four days and her strength was rapidly depleting with the effort of maintaining the shields to prevent the Connor-demon from escaping and wreaking more havoc.

"So you've returned, I see. I suppose it never occurred to you that you should hasten your trip to the _Circle_ with this child-abomination on the loose." Her voice ever maintained its razor-sharp edge.

"For your information," began Alistair, "the Circle was full of..."

"Don't bother, Alistair. I'm sure your well thought of excuses are not going to improve the situation as much as your silence would." She smiled cruelly at the young Warden, arms crossed in front of her. Alistair ground his teeth together and stalked off to the other side of the room.

"I apologize, Morrigan. We were delayed at the Circle," Deylan explained briefly. "This is First-Enchanter Irving," he gestured to a pale, wrinkled man. "He and the other mages are going to begin the ritual so that I can enter the Fade. And this," he said, pulling forward and delicate young mage, "is Ilaria, a friend of mine from the Circle. I'd like for you to take her upstairs so she can reinforce the barrier holding back the demon. I don't want it to try to flee after we start the ritual."

"Perhaps, you'd like me to fetch you your supper as well," the dark-haired witch snapped.

"Now is not the time to be difficult. Please, do as I ask," Deylan responded, a finality to his tone that few would dare to question.

Morrigan looked at the small woman before her with a baleful expression before sighing with irritation. "Follow me."

She never bothered to look back to see if the other woman had followed. Instead, keeping her eyes fully ahead of her, she marched up the stairs to the hallway in which she'd created a barrier. She was momentarily surprised to turn and find the other woman behind her examining the barrier with a studying eye.

"How long have you held this for?" Ilaria asked.

"Four days," Morrigan answered curtly.

"An impressive feat," Ilaria replied sincerely. "I'll add a buffer to it. Hopefully that will allow you relax a little."

Morrigan sneered as the mage beside her readied herself. As Ilaria cast her spell to bolster the shield, Morrigan found herself disconcerted by the feeling of Ilaria's magic. It didn't have the controlled, straight-forward feel to it of the few Circle mages she'd encountered. Instead, it was felt wild and emotional.

"You are not from the Circle," she stated.

Blue-green eyes looked into her yellow, cat eyes. "No, not originally, at least. I was born and educated in Minrathous."

Morrigan felt a mixture of interest and disgust. She had heard stories of the Tevinter Magister's and their power; and of their determination to keep it.

"Tevinter? How came you to Ferelden?"

"I came to Ferelden a few years ago. I've been studying in the Circle since then."

"You willingly entered that _prison_?" she spat.

"Not without purpose but yes," Ilaria responded calmly.

"Allowing those pathetic excuses for mages and their jailors sway over you would prove you a fool," Morrigan said, turning away.

"Perhaps. I admit that not all of my time there was pleasant but the knowledge I gained is invaluable. And I understand a great deal more about the world outside of Tevinter." She fell silent and the two women stood against opposite walls, each taking mute inventory of the other.

Ilaria broke the silence. "Are you a shape-shifter?"

Morrigan was startled at first but then assumed that Deylan must have told Ilaria about her.

"Why do you ask such a question? Has the Warden not told you of me?"

Ilaria grinned. "Deylan rarely tells more than he must. No, it's your eyes... I've never seen anything like them before. An old tome I read described shape-shifters and the effect of the magic on the mage but I have never encountered anyone capable of such magic. Most mages seem to think the knowledge died out ages ago. I am pleased to see the it still exists somewhere."

"My mother is the source of my abilities and her magic is old indeed." Morrigan studied the woman across from her. Most people would back down from the intensity of her gaze but Ilaria held her ground. "I suppose you are hoping I will share my secrets with you?"

"Not at all. I would not expect you to part with your knowledge unless I had something to offer in return."

Morrigan hid her surprise with a sneer. "I doubt there is anything you could teach me that would be worth the learning."

"That is possible. Though, should you change your mind..." Ilaria looked toward the barrier once again. "This seems strong enough. I'm going downstairs to see if there is anything Deylan needs. It was a pleasure to meet you, Morrigan." The smaller woman ducked her head in a gesture of respect before heading toward the stairs.

Morrigan watched her go with mixed feelings. She could sense a great deal of power within the other mage and this intrigued her. But to have willingly submitted to the Chantry and its sanctimonious templars... Despite her initial desire to simply write of Ilaria as another sheep in the Circle's fold, something told her she should allow more time before making a judgment about this newcomer. Content that the shield was sufficiently reinforced, Morrigan turned and headed downstairs.

Deylan had been within the Fade for nearly three hours. Though he stood unassisted and his eyes were open, it was apparent that he was elsewhere. Alistair had watched Ilaria grow increasingly agitated the more time passed. When Deylan finally returned to himself, she was the first to his side. His pronouncement that the demon had been defeated and that Connor should be himself again was met with sighs of relief. Ilaria didn't leave his side until he'd been tucked away in his room to rest.

Alistair had been trying to sleep for nearly an hour but rest eluded him. Deciding that a late night snack may resolve his problem, he rose and quietly headed toward the kitchen. He had just left his room when the tingling sensation he'd come to recognize as magic rushed up his spine. The magic itself had a rather benign feeling to it. He followed the sensation down the hallway. The doorway to the balcony was cracked open allowing the scent of impending rain to waft over him. He pushed open the door to see Ilaria standing at the edge of the balcony, the dim-light showing her breath fogging in the cold night air.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

She startled at his voice and turned quickly. "Alistair, I... yes, I'm fine. I thought everyone was sleeping. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, can't sleep. I was headed to the kitchen for a snack." She nodded, a distracted look on her face. "Would... you like to join me, Ilaria? It's awfully cold."

It seemed to take a moment for the question to register before she responded. "I... thank you. That's very kind of you." She brushed past him on her way in the door. The scent of her freshly washed hair wafted up to great him. The smell was intoxicating, warm and soft, foreign. He turned and shut the door before he could be distracted by it.

In an attempt to be a gentleman, Alistair held out his arm for her. As her fingers came around and lightly rested on his bare skin, he resisted the urge to yelp at the cold contact. Judging by the temperature of her skin, she'd been outside in the winter air for some time. The torch light in the hallway showed her cheeks and nose to be red with cold.

He set an easy pace in the sleeping quite of castle Redcliffe; they remained silent to avoid waking anyone. The kitchen was lit by the gentle glow of a banked fire. Alistair pulled out a chair at the rough wooden table for Ilaria to sit before ducking into the pantry. He returned a moment later with a platter piled with bread, apples, dried meat and cheese. After setting down the platter, he found a flagon still full of warm, mulled wine. He filled two goblets and the pair ate in silence for several minutes.

"If you don't mind me asking," Ilaria began, "how is it that a Grey Warden knows Arl Eamon's family?"

"Oh, well, the Arl raised me... until I was old enough to be sent off to the Chantry."

"So... are you a relative?"

"Not exactly, no. I'm a bastard. The father-less kind, not the other kind." He gave her a cheeky grin. There was another period of silence while Ilaria chewed, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"What about your parents?"

"My mother died when I was very young. And I never really knew my father," he replied matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry, it's really none of my business." Ilaria suddenly seemed flustered.

"No, it's alright. It's not like you won't hear more than you probably want to traveling with this bunch anyway. I'm an open book," he winked.

Her smile was sweet but didn't seem to fully touch the sad look in her eyes. "Alright, then, how did a boy sent to the Chantry get to be a Warden?"

"Well, I was never really interested in a life in the Chantry. I believe in the Maker well enough. I just never wanted to devote my life to running Chantry errands. I was all set to take my vows as a templar... please, don't zap me or anything... when Duncan recruited me."

Ilaria's amusement colored her tone. "A templar, huh? Never fear, Alistair, I hold nothing against templars as long as they aren't the nasty sort and you seem decent enough."

"Huh... an interesting opinion for a Circle mage. Usually that sort of confession makes mage's a little jumpy."

"I can see how it would for someone who grew up in the Circle."

"But you didn't?"

"No, actually. I've only been in the Circle for the last three years. I'm from Tevinter."

"I see... So, that's what Deylan meant." Her puzzled expression pushed him to continue. "He said you couldn't be an apostate. I'm guessing he was referring to your citizenship."

"Leave it to Deylan to say just enough to leave you with more questions than you began with." There was a fondness to her tone that made Alistair wonder at her relationship with his fellow Warden.

"You and Deylan are... close?" It was a statement and a question.

"Yes... well, no... not in an intimate sort of way." For some reason this confession brought Alistair a sense of relief. "Deylan is... what I imagine an older brother would be like." A wistful smile spread over her lips. "Anders was always getting us into trouble and Deylan would be there to get us out." Sadness touched her eyes again before she continued. "He'll be a good Warden. Level-headed, diplomatic... he never says much but just seems to exude charm. I think he could sway anyone."

"Maybe... I don't know about Morrigan though."

"She is... abrasive. She's an apostate?"

Alistair snorted. "Yes. Her mother 'gifted' her to our cause after saving us at Ostagar. I don't trust her."

"Trust can be a dangerous thing to give." A hardness came to Ilaria's eyes and her jaw clenched. It passed quickly and she seemed to brighten. "What were the other Wardens like? Most of Tevinter is... unimpressed by the Wardens but my father was fond of them. 'Great and noble warriors,' he always said."

Alistair was quickly distracted by a string of questions about the Wardens and his time with them. He found himself happy and laughing, dazzled by her interest. Time slipped by and before he knew it, the wine and a need for sleep was making him feel light-headed and his thoughts hazy. When Ilaria reached out and gripped his calloused hands with her delicate fingers, the surprise made his stomach flutter pleasantly.

"Thank you for this. It's been a pleasant distraction." Her warm smile sent heat to his cheeks. She rose gracefully. "Good night, Alistair." Her fingers slid slowly from his, as if she was reluctant to leave.

"Good night, Ilaria," he replied and watched her leave. He remained at the table for several minutes before rising and heading toward his room; a silly grin on his face and a giddy feeling bubbling inside him.


	10. Jowan

Three days had passed since arriving in Redcliffe and the early rays of dawn found Ilaria pacing back and forth in her room. The handsome Bann Teagan had agreed to allow her to visit Jowan in the dungeon but she had been unable to bring herself to do so. She was running out of time. They were leaving Redcliffe the next morning. She desperately wanted to see her friend but was torn by the feelings of betrayal left behind after his escape and her aversion to speak of Neria's death. She knew she would have to tell him. Deylan had barely spoken to him after finding him alive in the dungeon over a week prior and not at all since returning from the Circle.

She stood at the open window, the cold morning air steeling her, and watched the sun begin its climb into the sky. As the last of the bright orb left the horizon, she took a deep breath, pushed away the dark thoughts of lost friends and headed into the bowels of Redcliffe castle.

Only one torch had been left burning in the long hallway full of cells; it cast long, eerie shadows on the walls. The air was full of the smell of damp earth, smoke and the metallic smell of old blood. Though the corpses had been cleared from the castle and sent to the pyre the weight of death still hung heavy in the air. Ilaria's eyes blurred with unshed tears at the thought of someone she cared for wasting away in such a place. Squaring her shoulders, she began her slow pace down the stone floor. She counted the cell doors as she passed: one, two, three, four. At the fifth door, a single guard stood at attention. He barely spared her a glance before turning and unlocking the door behind him. Leaving the door open, he took several steps down the hallway providing her with a modicum of privacy.

She stepped into the cell and paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the increased dimness within. The first thing she could make out were the faintly glowing runes carve into the floor, walls, and ceiling a few feet into the cell. Any mage passing through those runes would have their mana stripped and find any magic rendered useless. The runes repeated on the floor to the back of the cell where they stretched up both walls forming a cube in which magic could not be used. The Circle mages had placed the charged runes before returning to the Circle. The charge would last for a month or more at which time a mage would be sent to recharge them.

When Ilaria finally focused on Jowan, she clenched her jaw to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. He was curled up on a narrow cot under a thin, tattered blanket. A pair of heavy, metal bracers craved with more runes bound his wrists. She couldn't have described what it was but something about him just looked broken. She silently observed him for a minute before speaking.

"Jowan," she said softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted slowly and it took a moment for his eyes to show recognition.

"Ilaria!" he exclaimed as he rose. "What are you doing here? Is Deylan with you? What about Neria and Anders?" He crossed the room, pausing at the edge of the blue light of the runes.

"No, it's just me. Deylan is upstairs somewhere preparing for our departure. Anders is still at the Circle and Neria..." She paused, forcing herself to regain control of her tempestuous emotions before continuing. "Jowan, did you hear what happened at the Circle?"

"I... nothing directly. I overheard some of the guards speaking about abominations in the tower but that can't..."

"It's true," she interrupted. "Uldred came back from Ostagar talking about mages ruling themselves. There was something about having support from Ferelden's leadership. He fought with some of the other senior enchanters. He summoned a demon that took control of him and the Circle was lost. There were blood mages..." She paused again in an attempt to regain control not wanting to sound accusatory. "There were blood mages in the Circle. They were attempting to subdue the templars but the Uldred demon began turning anyone he could capture into an abomination. Neria..." At this point Ilaria could no longer completely control herself. As Neria's death replayed in her mind she choked back a sob. "She's gone, Jowan."

She turned and faced the door. Jowan stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at her tense shoulders before collapsing to the floor. Ilaria turned to find him sitting just within the edges of the rune prison, tears streaming down his face. He wasn't making any sounds but the tears kept coming. After a while, Ilaria sat down across from him and waited for him to speak. Several minutes passed before he did.

"Did she... she didn't suffer, did she?" he asked.

"I don't think so. It happened so fast. Even with Anders right there, there was nothing... nothing we could do."

She wanted to reach over and console her friend. Jowan and Neria had grown up together and had been close long before she met either of them. Soon her grief swayed to anger.

"Why did you do it, Jowan?" she demanded, rounding on him quickly. "Why would you use blood magic? Do you have any idea what that did to her, losing you like that? And it forced Deylan to leave the Circle as well. Why?"

She examined his face carefully. She could read the guilt buried under the layers of grief. She sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead. She knew Jowan was kind and compassionate. It made his turning to blood magic all the more frustrating.

"I'm sorry, Arie. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I know it was wrong. I knew blood magic was wrong the moment I looked at it. I just... I felt so inferior to you and Deylan. Even Anders! I just wanted to be a better mage and I thought blood magic would make me one."

"Jowan, I've seen blood magic at work. It's not a sign of a powerful mage. It's the sign of a weak one."

"I know. I stopped studying it as soon as I met Lily. And I was really happy for awhile. Then we found out about the Rite of Tranquility..."

"Deylan told me. I wish you'd come to me, Jowan. I could have helped you."

"I know you would have. But, really, what could you have done? If you'd helped me escape, Greagoir would have sent you back to Tevinter in chains and you may have lost your travel papers."

There was a heavy pause before she responded softly. "I would have done it anyway."

He smiled gently. "I know. Arie, do you know what they are going to do to me?"

"No. Deylan said that Bann Teagan has stepped in until the Arl recovers. The Arl will decided your fate when he wakes... if he wakes." Her voice trailed off. More accusations now wouldn't resolve anything; just create greater feelings of despair.

"Jowan, I'm leaving with Deylan and the other Warden tomorrow. We're going to try to find a way to cure the Arl. When we get back, I'll do what I can to get you out of here. I'm going to talk to Bann Teagan today about making sure you're comfortable and then..."

"Don't worry about me, Arie," he interrupted. "I put myself in this position." He smiled a little indulgently. "Stop trying to take responsibility for me."

While he spoke her eyes had dropped to the floor. She could feel the weight of reality crushing down on her as if the stones of the castle above were falling over her. When she spoke, her voice was so soft Jowan could barely hear her.

"I don't want to lose you again." Torchlight sparkled in her tears as they trickled down her cheeks.

"Arie, look at me."

She looked up slowly, not wanting to face the reality of her friend in this dark hole again. Jowan's expression was tender and, for the first time, she could see a true understanding of the world in his eyes.

"It was my choices that placed me here. You can't save me from myself. You have to let me go."

Ilaria brushed the tears from her cheeks. She reached her hand out, allowing it to hover at the invisible edge of the runes power. Jowan lined his hand up to hers. She smiled weakly.

"I love you, little brother."

"I love you too."

She turned to leave and was nearly at the door before she stopped and turned.

"If you get a chance, run." And with that, she was gone, leaving Jowan alone in the dark.


	11. Leaving Redcliffe

As the Warden's little party left Redcliffe early the next morning, a light snow was beginning to fall. Sunlight filtered weakly through the clouds overhead making the chill in the air seem sharper. Alistair was unsurprised to hear Bodahn's voice rise up out of the cold in some dwarven tavern song as he drove his little team of donkey's forward. His clear tenor rang out over the travelers from the back of the line. Sten, the giant Qunari, lead the party. Deylan was just behind, already in quiet conversation with Morrigan. It still surprised Alistair that they got along. Deylan was so... nice and Morrigan was just... well, mean. The golem, Shale, thundered along at the back of the line keeping a rear guard. Leliana was scouting, her red hair making her visible as she flickered in and out of the shadows ahead.

Ilaria walked along behind Deylan and Morrigan in talking softly with Wynne. They'd been drawing together more in their shared grief. He'd been unable to speak to her since that night in the kitchen despite his attempts otherwise. Preparations for their travels had kept everyone busy. The villagers of Redcliffe had been helpful preparing them for their journey. They had happily supplied extra provisions and winter clothing for the group.

The large mabari hound that had been following Deylan padded along next to Ilaria. It was true, she'd shown far more interest in the hound than her fellow mage. Deylan's interest in the mabari was intellectual at best. He'd shown no interest in claiming the hound as his own and showed little inclination to keep it in his company either. Ilaria had fawned over the beast the moment she laid eyes on it, scolding Deylan for his neglect. Alistair still found the memory of her chiding Deylan amusing. After telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his neglect of the animal, she had promptly named him Dax and taken over his care. Alistair was unsure of how imprinting would work in this circumstance. Dax seemed mildly confused but was taking enjoyment in the attention he was receiving.

He'd been about to approach her that morning as they gathered to leave but the something in her eyes had stopped him. He'd heard from one of the guard that she'd visited the blood mage in the dungeon. It was apparent that her mind was elsewhere and given her reaction several days before on the boat, he was confident that her thoughts were still with Jowan this morning.

When they stopped to camp for the night, Alistair was about to offer to help Ilaria set up her tent when Leliana suddenly appeared. She quickly drew Ilaria into conversation and they worked together to set up the tent and began preparing dinner. Leliana was delighted when Ilaria light the damp wood for their fire with magic and Ilaria seemed to find some comfort in her contagious mood. Over the next several days, the two women spent a great deal of time talking together and soon became good friends. They often included others in their conversations but Alistair found his plans to speak to Ilaria alone foiled time and again.

On the fifth night, they camped in a small copse of trees nestled against the steep curve of a hillside. The night sky was pristine; covered in glittering stars. It was also bitterly cold. Alistair kept watch at the edge of the firelight. It was unnecessary since the opinionated golem, Shale, had joined their little group. Shale never slept and kept guard each night but sometimes Alistair just felt better if he kept watch at least part of the night. It came as a surprise to him when a shadow flickered before the firelight. He turned to find Ilaria standing beside him.

"Mind if I join you?" she queried. She had on her traveling cloak and had a thick blanket wrapped around her.

"Be my guest," he replied, gesturing to the open space next to him on the thick log. "Can't sleep?"

She eyed the look suspiciously before sitting carefully beside him facing the fire. "No." Her reply was punctuated by a resounding snore from Dax who was asleep in her tent. She smiled indulgently. "My feet are cold and I can't seem to get warm enough unless Dax is snoring in my ear. Not very conducive to sleep."

He looked her over for a moment before laughing softly. "Aren't you a mage?"

"Well, yes. I didn't want to send your templar senses tingling..." He couldn't tell in the firelight but he thought she might be blushing.

He smiled. "Don't mind me. I'm traveling with four mages. I'm just expecting to feel magic all the time."

"Very well then," she said and after she released a breath slowly, he felt the familiar swelling of magic. He watched her lips move carefully and soon felt warmth envelope the two of them. He found himself relaxing into it. He hadn't realized he was so cold.

Ilaria slid off the log and sat on the ground with her toes stretched toward the fire. After a few moments of companionable silence, Alistair came around and joined her allowing his shoulder to brush against hers. He puzzled over why he felt so comfortable around her. She was beautiful and that generally helped him feel awkward enough. She just seemed to radiate calm; though now it seemed tinged with a heaviness that made him wonder if she still thought about the mage in Redcliffe's dungeon.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his tone soft and warm. "You've seemed a little... out of sorts since we left Redcliffe."

Her eyes lowered and the fringe of her eyelashes was visible in the firelight.

"I didn't realize I'd miss the Circle so much. Well, not the Circle really, but the life I had there before... friends." She stared into the fire and he could see the sparkle of tears brimming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry..." he began but didn't know how to continue. Duncan's face flickered in his mind and his own loss weighed heavy on his heart.

"I guess... I just keep waking up expecting to find myself back in the tower with either Neria or Anders poking me out of bed. And sometimes, waking up alone is just... depressing."

"Oh, um... I didn't realize that you were... involved with anyone... err... I mean..." he stammered.

"Oh, no. It's not like that. I wasn't in a relationship, physical or otherwise. Just Anders... He escaped from the Tower... a lot. The last time they put him in solitary confinement for a year. When they finally let him out, he didn't like to be alone. We were best friends, comfortable together. He'd come to my bed just so he didn't have to be alone. I guess I got used to not having to sleep alone."

There was a soft hoot followed by the unmistakable flutter of wings. Shale's voice reached them from across the grove. "Did it hear that? There are birds nearby! We must be watchful. Disgusting creatures..."

Alistair and Ilaria broke into muffled giggles. Shale had said little since they left Redcliffe other than to complain about birds or deliver insults. Her issue with the feathered beasts had become a source of amusement to most of the party.

"I can hear it laughing. We'll see who's laughing when the birds come..." Shale's voice tapered off as she stomped away from the firelight.

Alistair watched Ilaria's face as she smiled and was struck by how alive she looked when she smiled. For that moment, the weight of recent days seemed to lift away from her. She turned to look at him and her smile softened as their eyes met.

"Has anyone told you you're very handsome?" He was unable to hide the look of surprise on his face. "I'm sorry. Sometimes my mouth talks before my head thinks." She began to turn away.

"No, it's okay. You just caught me off guard." She returned his smile. "There was the one time in Denerim... but those women were not like you. Why? Are you saying you think I'm handsome?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't think so," she grinned and bumped her shoulder against his.

"So... do I get to say the same?"

"Only if you think so."

"Oh, I think so. I'll just surprise you with it when you're least expecting it." He bumped her back.

"I don't know," she teased, "I'm pretty hard to surprise."

"Well, I can be pretty sneaky."

"Phfft... Not in those boots."

"I could be barefoot."

"In the snow?"

"Okay, I admit, it would be pretty cold. Maybe I'll just wait till spring."

She smirked. "I won't hold my breath then."

There was a comfortable pause filled by the snapping of the logs burning in the fire. Alistair was content to watch the light flicker over Ilaria's face but found himself distracted by her long slender fingers reaching toward the fire. After a moment, some of the brilliant flames seemed to leap into her hand as she beckoned them. They twisted over and around her hands as she played with them. Then, with a quick gesture, they vanished.

"Thanks for your company," she said warmly as she rose.

He reached out and grabbed her hand gently, drawing her eyes back to where he sat on the ground.

"You really are beautiful," he said sincerely.

Her responding smile left him feeling warm and light headed.

"Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Ilaria." He watched her disappear behind the flaps of her tent and sighed contentedly as he looked up at the stars.


	12. Zevran

The Warden's and their little party had been on the road to Denerim for just over three weeks. Dragon's Peak was a smudge in the distance when they stopped for lunch. Due to the amount of time they were spending together, the band of travelers was becoming quite close. Protecting one another during skirmishes with small groups of darkspawn or bandits only helped to increase their bond. Deylan observed this new "family" contentedly. After leaving the Circle, he'd not thought to find the companionship that he'd had there again. He certainly didn't expect to find it among the Wardens. He'd never gotten time to know them but his experience told him that "normal people" were always suspicious of mages. He couldn't help but wonder if it was Ilaria. She'd drawn him and the others together at the Circle. Perhaps it was her here as well. He knew the others would follow his lead but he also knew that he was too impersonal to affect the kind of close knit feeling that was developing. Ilaria took time for everyone. She'd even drawn Morrigan out enough for the two of them to talk about magic. He could only surmise that it was her empathy. She had a gift for finding a way to get others to open up.

He watched Ilaria playing with Dax in the snow. They were currently playing some sort of chase. He couldn't help but smile as Dax knocked Arie over into the snow, making her laugh. He'd been puzzling over how to get rid of that dog since it had showed up just outside Lothering. It wasn't that he disliked the mabari; he simply had no use for him. Growing up inside the Circle did not allow for socialization with animals often and he had little interest in them in the first place. He wanted to give Dax to Arie but the mabari's imprinting made that difficult.

"Basra, the day grows late while we idle here. We should continue while we still have daylight." Sten was always frustrated by the need to rest.

"Very well, Sten." Deylan called out to the others to gather up and continue on. It was late in the afternoon when a young elven woman came running down the road toward them. She was pale and out of breath. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Please! Please, help us! They attacked the wagon. Please, we need help!" Before he could respond, she took of back down the trail. Deylan sighed and he and the others took off behind her down the trail leaving Wynne and Shale with Bodahn, Sandal and the wagon.

Deylan was himself only half surprised to come around a tight bend in the trail and find an ambush waiting. They barely avoided being crushed by a thick log as it fell to the ground behind them, cutting them off from escape. Rock sloped up steeply on either side of them pinning them in a narrow gully with the only exit through a band of assassins.

The attack began after a cry of, "Kill the Wardens!" from a blonde, heavily armed elf. Ilaria quickly shielded them from the arrows of the archers on the ledges above. As Sten and Alistair charged forward, blades bare, Deylan called out to the women behind him.

"Morrigan, take out the mage. Leliana, the archers. Ilaria, keep that shield up. As soon as the archers are down, pick off anyone you can." Deylan began draining the life out of the nearest assassin. He weakened quickly. The sounds of battle rang sharply in his ear. He looked up in time to see Leliana's well placed shot bring down a third archer as Morrigan defeated the mage she'd been struggling against. He felt more than saw Ilaria's shield fading. Almost as soon as it was gone, the distinct smell of lightning filled the air and he watched a brilliant bolt strike down a man attacking Sten. Choosing his target carefully, Deylan cast a mass paralysis spell that immobilized the remainder of their opponents allowing them to be quickly dealt with.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked. He glanced around at everyone quickly. Finding no one to be seriously injured he strode forward into the midst of bodies till he found the elven leader crumpled on the ground. "Leliana, fetch Wynne. Arie," he called. "He's still alive. I need you to keep him that way until Wynne gets here. Alistair, Sten, Morrigan, let's make sure everyone else is dead."

Zevran woke up slowly. It took several moments for his senses to return completely and for the world to come back into focus. The voices around him were only murmurs at first, indistinct and hazy. When his vision focused, he found a slight, pale woman leaning over him pulling a wet cloth over his forehead. It was only moments later that he realized he was bound to the cot he was stretched out on.

"Generally, I like to get to know a woman a little before the ropes come in to play but I think I can make an exception."

"Assassin, I have questions for you."

Zevran watched at the woman stood and backed away and the tall man who had spoken took her place standing over him. This must be the mage Warden. He fit the description.

"Let me save you some time, Warden. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows. You've heard of us, yes?"

"I am aware of the Crows."

"I was brought her to kill any surviving Grey Warden's. I have failed, sadly."

"Who hired you?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital, Loghain, I think his name was."

"Loghain! That traitorous, murdering bastard!" A second man speaking who fit the description of the other Warden, the one who was almost a templar.

"Yes, so are many of our clients," Zevran replied.

"What did Loghain tell you?" The first Warden asked.

"Not much really. I don't know what his problem is with you, though I assume it's the usual. Power and all that."

The dark haired Warden stared down at him thoughtfully before speaking. "I don't think there is much we can learn from this one."

"Perhaps not. But if you are done questioning me, I have an offer I'd like to make you. For failing to kill you, my life is forfeit as far as the Crows are concerned. You and your companions are ones who would give the Crows pause. Allow me to serve you instead. I could protect you should the Crows attempt again... not that you need protecting."

"Why should we trust you?" The second Warden again.

"Look, it's not like I had much choice in joining the Crows. They bought me, for a bargain I'm told, when I was very young. Since you still live, they will kill me if you don't. I happen to like living so I am willing to give you my loyalty in return for that small favor."

"Why would we want your help?" The first again.

"I am skilled at many things. I can fight well enough and I've gotten rather good at picking locks should you be looking for treasure. I can be stealthy if need be. I could also do other things... cook your meals, shine armor..." he dropped his voice as seductively as he could, "warm your bed? You won't find a better deal, I promise."

The Warden looked down on him evenly. For a moment, he felt hopeful. He may survive this after all. But the next words left a pit of cold in his stomach.

"Sten, kill him," the Warden said as he turned to leave.

"Wait!" The pretty little woman from before.

"Arie..."

"Deylan, please, just listen." Ah, yes, that was his name. "I've been to Antiva. The Crows are... a serious threat. Having someone around who is familiar with their methods could be helpful. Their entire government has changed because of the Crows. You and Alistair are just two Wardens." She looked passed Deylan at Zevran quickly before lowering her voice. "We need the help."

Deylan stood there for several moments, coolly regarding her before responding. "Very well. But Arie, I'm holding you responsible. We aren't going to be able to stop the Blight if he kills us in our sleep." She only nodded.

"What? We're taking the assassin with us?" The second Warden, Alistair, followed Deylan as he left.

"Are you sure about this, Arie?" Another pretty red head.

"Surely, I did not know there was such beauty to be found in this freezing little area of the world."

"As sure as I can be..." she responded before turning back to Zevran. "My name is Ilaria. It seems I am to be your jailor."

"Oh... and are you the one who so nicely tended to my wounds?"

"Your serious injuries were healed by Wynne. She is a much more effective healer than I am. This is Leliana."

"Welcome Zevran. I'm sure having a Crow with us will be a fine plan," Leliana greeted him.

"And I am assuming it was you who tied me up?" he grinned at her lasciviously.

"Ugh... maybe not." She turned and walked away in the direction of the Wardens.

"Zevran, I will warn you, I will kill you if necessary. I believe in what the Wardens are doing and beyond that, they are my friends. I will untie you now so you can clean yourself up. Please, don't force me to kill you."

Zevran found himself staggered by her sincerity. "I give you my word, mia bella, I will be on my best behavior."

Ilaria gently slipped her small dagger into the loops of the rope and cut the Crow free. Despite being only partially healed, he rose swiftly and gracefully, helping her to her feet.

"I pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you release me from it. I am your man, without reservation, this I swear."

She studied him carefully. "Shouldn't your oath be to the Wardens?"

"It was not the Wardens who spared my life."

"Perhaps not. But your loyalty should be to them, not me."

"You spared my life. My oath is to you. Through your loyalty to them, I shall be loyal also."

She seemed to muse over his words before nodding solemnly. "Come with me. I'll show you where you can clean up."

Zevran followed after her displaying a cheerful demeanor to hide the turmoil of thoughts in his mind.


	13. Denerim

Denerim rose on the horizon. They would reach it's gates the following day. They'd camped in a little hollow a short walk from the road. Ilaria was looking forward to a little time in the city. She knew their stay would be short, but the thought of a hot bath, a warm meal and a soft bed for a few nights in a row was appealing.

Zevran was everything he promised to be. He'd proved himself to be a capable fighter through a few skirmishes in the last few days. He was helpful both setting up and taking down camp and quick to comply with any request given to him. Ilaria wanted to trust him but couldn't ignore the unease she felt. She'd promised to take responsibility for his actions and knew she'd never forgive herself if she was wrong. Each night she cast a mild sleeping spell over the golden assassin before sleeping herself and then lifted it each morning. She kept a close eye on all his movements just as she'd promised Deylan. She spent a great deal of time talking to him while they traveled. She'd been to Antiva but it seemed like a different place through his eyes. Her desire to trust him was at war with her fear of the consequences of that trust.

Alistair had barely spoken to her at all since she'd spared Zevran's life. She assumed he was angry with her and had avoided him because of it. She found herself feeling morose at the thought that she damaged their friendship. She was all the more surprised when he dropped down beside her near the fire just before sunset.

"Hey," he said and smiled.

"Hello, Alistair." She returned his smile and hoped the thrill she felt with his presence wasn't obvious. There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Looks like we'll be in Denerim tomorrow."

"I certainly hope so," she responded emphatically, thinking of how nice it would be to be indoors.

Alistair chuckled. "I didn't know you were so fond of the city."

"It's not the city. It's the warm food and beds that I'm fond of." She gave him a teasing, conspiratorial look. "I'm not a big fan of the cold weather you have around here," she whispered as she looked around with mock severity.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be able to find a bed somewhere..."

She couldn't help giving him a suggestive look that made him backtrack, stumbling over his words.

"Alistair, I had no idea..."

"No, no, no... Uh... I mean, you'll have a bed... all to yourself. Not we... I mean, I'll have my own bed and you'll have your own bed and..."

Ilaria burst out laughing, unable to control herself any longer.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I couldn't help myself." She gave him a crooked grin. "You're just too cute when you blush."

She trailed her delicate fingertips over his cheek making him turn an even deeper shade of red. She smiled, thoroughly amused. She'd joked with Anders like this often. The difference was in the response. Where Alistair would flush and stutter, Anders would come up with a smacking reply that would leave reeling. Thinking of Anders sent a wave of melancholy through her. She dropped her hand and turned her gaze to the fire not wanting Alistair to see it. She couldn't help but wonder about Anders. Was he okay? Had he tried escaping again? Did he miss her? And, with an unexpected swell of something like jealousy, who was he sleeping with now? She forced her features to smooth, unsure if Alistair was watching or not. She turned to look at him when he cleared his throat.

"So... um... I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

Ilaria's interest peaked. Alistair had never asked her for help with anything before though he constantly offered his.

"I might consider it," she teased. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well... how much to you know about my parentage?"

"Well, you did tell me you were a bastard. I noticed you left out that you were a bastard prince though." She winked at him.

"Oh... so, you heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't think this group will have many secrets. Too many nights on the road without much to do but gossip." She smiled again. "But what does this have to do with your favor? Are we storming the castle?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yes. And then we'll spend the night in the larder raiding the cheese and fine wines. Anyway, so, my mother, she was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle and she had another child, a daughter, my older sister. I found out she's alive and living in Denerim and I was hoping to visit her while we were there."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Alistair. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. I was just wondering... if you don't mind that is... Would you come with me? It's fine if you don't want to. I know we don't know each other well..."

He was beginning to prattle so Ilaria interrupted. "I'd be happy to. But are you sure you wouldn't rather see her on your own?"

"Um, no. I'd think I'd really rather you came with me." He sighed heavily and looked off into the distance. "I guess I'm just a little nervous and you've always made me feel so comfortable. I was just hoping that if you came with me it might help me relax a little."

His sincere confession was touching and Ilaria reached out and put her and over his, gently gripping his fingers.

"If my being there will help you feel better, than I wouldn't let you go without me." She smiled up into his soft brown eyes and was rewarded by a happy smile as he twined his fingers in hers.

"Thanks," he said and seemed about to continue when Zevran's lilting voice interrupted.

"Ah, mia dolce, are you ready for some training?"

Ilaria had spent an hour each evening for the last several nights tumbling through the snow with Zevran in an attempt to improve her close combat skills. She knew she'd never be as skillful as the assassin but it was important that she be able to protect herself should anyone get close enough to inhibit her casting. On the previous nights, she'd looked forward to their sparing; tonight she wished she could just remain here by the fire, relaxed, and talking with Alistair. She slid her fingers from Alistair's grasp as she rose.

"Just let me gather my things," she said before turning back to look at Alistair. She gave him a wistful smile before walking off.

Alistair had been pleasantly surprised the next day as the group finished their walk into Denerim. Ilaria kept him company, peppering him with questions about his sister and what he knew about her. He found himself confessing more to her than he'd expected about his feelings and his desire to have a family. She'd been warm and understanding and had even briefly spoken about her father. He quickly found himself alternately relaxed and flustered when she teased him. Her attention, even through teasing, left him feeling unusually content.

He slept well that first night in a bed but woke to a stomach full of knots knowing that the time was rapidly approaching that he might meet his sister. He quickly washed and dressed before heading to the main room of the Silver Vixen, the cozy little inn they'd rented rooms at near the edge of Denerim. Deylan, Ilaria and the others were already in quiet conversation at a large table in the corner heaped with breakfast: eggs, ham, pastries, fresh bread, hot coffee, and baked apples.

"No, it's nothing serious," he heard Ilaria explain as he approached. "I just have a few items I'd like to pick up in the market. I can do that while you trying hunting down this Brother Genitivi. It'll save us some time."

"Alright," Deylan responded as Alistair sat down. "But you should take someone with you."

A part of Alistair's brain knew that this was the moment he was supposed to chip in and say he'd go but the knots in his stomach were making it hard to concentrate. He finally realized his missed opportunity when Ilaria spoke for him.

"Alistair mentioned he was familiar with Denerim. I thought he could take me into the market and then we could meet you back here this evening." Her quick even response surprised him. It didn't even sound rehearsed. She'd somehow known without his saying so that he'd prefer to keep this visit to his sisters quiet.

"Uh, yeah, I'd be happy to show her around. We can meet back here tonight."

Deylan eyed the two of them carefully. It was obvious he knew there was something he wasn't being told and now he was just deciding whether or not it was important enough to worry about. He must have decided their trip to the market was innocent enough.

"Very well. Just, please, be sure to meet back here by dark."

Ilaria popped right up out of her seat and planted a quick kiss on Deylan's cheek. Alistair shoved some sort of pastry into his mouth and grabbed another and followed Ilaria up the stairs to grab their heavy cloaks for the walk to the market and Goldanna.

Alistair sensed the tension coming off of Ilaria almost as soon as Goldanna opened her mouth and it was steadily increasing. It was when this bitter woman who was supposed to be his sister called the petite red-head by his side a tart and implied that she was chasing him for gold that he began to sense magic rippling through her. He glanced down to see her jaw clenched and a spark darting between her fingers.

"Alistair, I think we should leave," Ilaria said through clenched teeth.

"I agree," he responded sullenly. "Let's go."

The weight in the pit of his stomach grew as he followed Ilaria out the rough wooden door. Family wasn't supposed to be like this. Family was supposed to be accepting and loving... a home. The mixture of disappointment and anger tuned out the rest of the world and it took him a moment to realize Ilaria was speaking to him.

"Alistair... Alistair?"

His eyes finally met hers. The intense color of her eyes in the sunlight struck him and for a moment he was lost in a very different emotion.

"Alistair? Are you alright?" Her cold fingers against his cheek pulled him out of the swell of emotions threatening to overcome him.

"What? I'm sorry. I was just... thinking." He place his hand over hers for a second before gripping her fingers lightly and pulling them away from his face.

"Are you alright?" she repeated.

"I'm fine. I just..." he sighed heavily. "I can't believe this is the sister I've been wanting to meet. I thought family was supposed to accept you... no matter what. Now I just... I feel like an idiot."

He let go of her hand and began to turn away. He could feel the sting of unshed tears in his eyes and he did not want her to see him cry. He stopped as her hand gripped his arm and she pulled him around to face her. She reached up with both hands and, placing them on his cheeks, she forced him to look in her eyes.

"Alistair, you are not an idiot. You are one of the kindest, most accepting men I know and that woman in there is a fool to not give you the chance to show her who you really are." She lowered her hands but maintained eye contact. "There are some truly terrible people in this world. You can't just let everyone walk all over you. If you're going to find any happiness in your life, at some point you're going to have to stop and ask yourself what you want and then decide if it's worth fighting for. And if it is, never give up."

They stood there in silence for several moments sharing an unspoken bond building upon respect and empathy. It didn't occur to Alistair to break their gaze until he noticed that the snow had begun to fall. Fluffy white flakes were beginning to stick to Ilaria's hair and eyelashes. Her cheeks were red with the cold and he thought of how cold her fingers had felt against his cheeks. He grinned at her and grabbed her hand, pulling it through his arm.

"Come on. You're freezing and the Gnawed Noble has got some fantastic spiced cider this time of year. Let's get you warmed up."

She smiled at him as he led her toward the tavern. Even with all the disappointment he was feeling over Goldanna's reaction to him, having Ilaria next to him, gently leaning against him for warmth, made him feel peaceful and happy and, for a moment, he hoped the day would never end.


	14. Haven

Thanks to all my dear readers! I appreciate you continuing to read my little story! :D I'd love your reviews! They INSPIRE me!

Happy Reading!

Much to his chagrin, Deylan was finding Zevran to be useful. While he talked to a dark haired man claiming to be Weylon in Brother Genitivi's home, Zevran had quietly snuck around and opened a door at the back of the house. Within, he found the body of the real Weylon, long dead, preserved by magic. The fake Weylon was quickly disposed of and the house searched. Within some of Brother Genitivi's papers, they discovered the location of a small village high in the Frostback Mountains. Deylan was dismayed at the thought of traveling there during the winter. It was entirely possible the road there would be blocked by snow and they would have to waste time and energy to magically clear their way. Inwardly grumbling at the task ahead of them, he led the group back to their lodging.

They arrived at the Silver Vixen after dusk. Deylan was surprised to find Ilaria sitting on a table in the lounge with Alistair on the bench nearby. They were both laughing loudly. It only took a few moments of observation for him to realize that they were both drunk. If the number of empty tankards was any indication, they were very drunk.

"Looks like I missed the fun group," Zevran grumbled with mock solemnity.

Ilaria started up on the verse of a bawdy song that she'd apparently been trying to teach to Alistair. She paused periodically to correct him. They'd sing a few lines, off-key, before breaking down into uncontrolled laughter.

"Ilaria," Deylan called out sternly after watching them for a minute in bewilderment.

Hazy eyes flashed in his direction. After a moment, they lit up and she jumped off the table she'd been sitting on. She stumbled a few steps before finding her balance and ran into Deylan, nearly knocking him off his feet as she wrapped his waist in a tight hug.

"Deylan! I was wonderin' when you'd get back! Alistair and I were going to wait for all of you but you're sooooo slow!" Her attention snapped around. "Zevran," she exclaimed running over to the assassin and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Come have a drink! They have this really yummy wine that has these funny bubbles... I think it's magic..." She began to giggle.

Deylan looked up to find Alistair pouting as he watched Ilaria prattling to Zevran. It seemed his melancholy was short lived, however, because Ilaria's enthusiasm quickly found a new target.

"Leli!" she squealed as if seeing the bard for the first time in ages. "You have to learn this new song," she said between giggles. Her voice then dropped into a somber whisper. "It's dirty..."

"Okay, I think you've had enough for tonight," Deylan began. "Let's get you to bed..."

At that moment, Alistair rose from the bench he'd been sitting on only to lose his balance and come crashing down to the floor. His muscular frame landed with a resounding thud. There was a muffled "ow" as Alistair tried to roll over. With an exasperated sigh, Wynne passed Deylan and headed toward the prone figure on the floor. Ilaria moved to follow and only managed a few steps before stumbling. Zevran effortlessly caught her, sweeping her up into his arms.

"I'll take her up to bed," the elf said. As Deylan opened his mouth to speak, Zevran continued, "I promise to be on my best behavior, Warden. You'll never meet a more perfect gentleman."

Glancing over again at Wynne helping Alistair, he nodded at Zevran who headed toward the stairs. Morrigan had disappeared and Sten was still camped about a mile away with Shale and Dax leaving him Leliana and Wynne to get Alistair up the stairs on their own. Deylan pushed aside his irritation and got to work.

Despite the enthusiasm she had showed when her companions first entered the tavern, Ilaria had noiselessly curled into Zevran as he stopped her fall. While he carried her up the stairs, she pressed her forehead into his neck and rested. He thought she'd fallen asleep until he stepped into her room.

"I want to take off my boots," she mumbled as he stepped into the dark room.

He set her down gently on a chair near the small window. Soft moonlight filtered through the dingy glass, painting her in its pale colors. He looked up at her and her eyes glowed a soft blue as she flicked her hand toward the fireplace. The cold moonlight was soon replaced by the warm flicker of firelight. Though his experience with mages was limited, he'd seen few mages capable of lighting a blaze with so little concentrated effort.

"You are simply amazing, mia bella," he crooned as he helped unlace her leather boots.

"I wasn't always. I shouldn't be..." He looked up at her to find her staring into the fire, a distant look in her eyes. "I could only cast simple spells as a child. I wouldn't have been much of a mage at all if my father..." She trailed off into silence, a pained look clouding her features.

He removed both of her boots and set them aside. When he rose, he gripped her hands and pulled her up with him. "Come, dolce. You must sleep, for tomorrow we head off to wonders unknown."

She nodded and didn't fight him as he led her to her bed. She lay down and quickly drifted off to sleep. Zevran watched her for a moment and wondered what secrets were hiding in her beautiful head. He stepped out of her room just as Deylan lumbered by supporting the weight of his fellow Warden. Zevran smiled to himself thinking he'd managed to escape with a much more pleasant chore for the evening. He quickly disappeared into his room to avoid being asked to help.

They left for Haven early the next morning. The weeks spent on the road drew everyone closer together. They protected one another and shared the same space day after day. Before long, they were and odd sort of family. Not everyone got along or liked each other, but everyone watched out for the others. Ilaria spent her days talking to her new family and her evenings sparing with Zevran or Leliana. She knew how to handle daggers from her time in the Faire but had never learned to fight with them. Eventually she convinced Alistair and Sten to spar with her. She'd wield her mage's staff from the Circle to parry blows from their swords. Though she'd used spells to bolster the strength of her staff, one night the inevitable happened. As she blocked a particularly forceful blow from Sten's two-handed sword, the staff gave way and snapped in two.

"Dammit," she said as Sten lifted her from where she'd fallen to the ground.

"My apologies, Basra. It was not my intention to break your... stick," Sten said in his usual solemn manner.

"No apology needed Sten. It was expected. I have another in the wagon."

Alistair had been watching them spar and had nearly run over when Ilaria had fallen. He found himself more and more preoccupied with her wellbeing lately. His eyes followed her as she headed toward the supply wagon. She climbed into the back and returned with a long box that had been tucked into the corner of the wagon. He was puzzled when, instead of opening it and removing the staff that must have been within, she set the box down and stood staring at it with an apprehensive look. She remained that way for some time. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him and he strolled to her side.

"Now, I've seen a lot of boxes but that is a particularly nice looking one," he said, overly cheerful as he approached.

She jumped, startled. "Alistair, I wasn't expecting you." She turned back to the box.

He waited and when she didn't speak, "Is it going to attack if you open it?"

She chuckled. "No, I just..." She trailed her fingers over the edge of the box before reaching down to the latch. She lifted the lid slowly. Within lay a simple and elegant staff. The base had a large knob while the top carried an unusual stone.

"It's a family heirloom," Ilaria explained simply.

"Is that why you've been using the one you brought from the Circle instead?" Alistair questioned. "I could understand how you wouldn't want it to get ruined."

"No, not really. It's... well... I grew up hearing stories about this staff. The last mage to use it was my grandmother. It doesn't work well for everyone."

"What do you mean, 'for everyone?'" he queried.

"The staff is made of dragon bone. My father says some of the dragon still remains within it." She smirked. "He said that it took the touch of a particular mage to tame a dragon. He never used it. He gave it to me the summer before he died. Apparently, it backfires on a mages who can't control it."

"Hmm... well, I can see how that might give you reason to pause."

She sighed before raising her hand. Her fingers trailed lightly over the staff.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of the staff? No. It's just a way to channel power and this one is especially good for battle magics." What he said next he wasn't entirely sure he understood because she said it so softly. "I'm afraid of myself."

"What?"

"Nothing," she smiled sweetly. Without any of the hesitation she'd shown earlier, she reached into the box and lifted the staff out. At her touch, the stone at the top came alive with soft light swirling sedately within. She gasped slightly and Alistair felt the air around her become charged with magic.

"Uh... is everything alright?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes alight with the energy she controlled. He felt the magic drain away and the stone and her eyes faded back into the normal shades of night. Her expression grew wistful.

"This is the only thing I was able to take with me when I left Tevinter that belonged to my family... to my father. He used to tell me about my grandmother using this staff to battle Qunari. It's old. I don't know how many generations it's passed through. My father says that every time he picked it up it would shock him. He was more of a healer. He thought the staff had seen so many battles that it refused to be used for anything else." She snorted in amusement. "Guess I've got the right touch."

"What was your father like? You've told me stories of him before but not really about him."

"My father... He was a good man: kind, funny, thoughtful. He was a perfect contrast to what I remember of my mother. She was all fight and fire he used to say."

"How old where you when you lost your mother?"

"Twelve. She was killed while fighting the Qunari. My grandmother was so proud. Do you remember anything about your mother?"

"No, she died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. My childhood wasn't so bad," he gave her a smile that she couldn't help returning. The stayed there talking for some time. Alistair's stomach fluttered every time she laughed. Finally, leaning her staff against the wagon, Ilaria closed the box and pushed it back inside.

"I'd better get to bed. If I don't turn in soon, Dax is going to go snuggle up with Sten again and I won't have my bed warmer."

"Ilaria," he stopped her before she could walk away by grabbing her arm. As she turned he allowed his fingers to slide down her arm. Her gripped her fingers lightly. "I... I wanted to tell you I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together."

She squeezed his fingers and smiled up at him. "Me, too. It's nice to have a friend I can talk to."

"Yeah, friends are good," he said lamely trying to hide the disappointment he felt welling in his chest.

"See you in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Good night, Alistair."

"'Night," he smiled. As she turned away, he let the smile slide from his face. He watched her disappear into the darkness of her tent with Dax before trudging toward his own tent for the night.

The Warden's little group had traveled the pass up to Haven with surprising ease which made the attack by the villagers seem all the more out of place. Ilaria felt the weight of death hanging over her. It made the hike to the doors of the Temple of Andraste all the harder. Every villager that fell on their way to the ashes pressed down on her. By the time they left the Temple and passed through to the Gauntlet, she was exhausted. Seeing the ashes left her with a feeling of reverence, but she didn't feel that it had affected her in the way it had Alistair, Wynne and Leliana. They left the Gauntlet and began back across the plateau toward the Temple entrance. They were half way across when a horn echoed across the mountain top. Leliana's bow snapped up and an arrow was loosed very quickly, felling a cultist near the Temple's entrance, but it wasn't fast enough. With a loud roar, the dragon the cultists had been worshipping descended on the group.

Before long, the group was spread out around the angry beast, each doing their best to cause as much damage as possible. Ilaria watched as a strong bolt of lightning shot toward the dragon from Morrigan. The dragon shook its head, stunned for a moment, before seeking out her attacker. She whipped her large bulk around to face the witch and sent a gust of wind crashing into Morrigan with her wings. Ilaria felt panic rise in her chest as she watched the dragon's head pull back, her jaws opening to blast fire where Morrigan had been pushed down.

Summoning up all the energy she could, Ilaria used a spell to rush herself between Morrigan and the dragon. She was able to pivot around and put a shield over the two of them before the dragon fire came rushing at her. She thought she heard Deylan's voice screaming Morrigan's name, but the rush and the heat quickly blocked out any outside noise.

"Morrigan! Morrigan, get up! You have to get out of here! I don't know how long I can hold this up," she yelled behind her.

Unable to see behind her, Ilaria continued to hold the shield up. The last of her flagging energy was quickly fleeing her under the onslaught of fire. As she tried to force more energy into the shield, she began to feel it splintering above her. As the intense heat reached her hands raised above her, she couldn't help crying out. The pain in her hands was intense and she knew the shield would fail completely in moments. She was preparing herself for the fire to come rushing around her when another bolt of lightning streaked past her. The brightness of the fire disappeared and she collapsed backward, cradling her hands to her chest as she tried to remain seated upright.

The rest of the battle she watched through a haze of pain. She thought she saw Sten darting beneath the dragon's legs just before it fell. The moment the dragon's head hit the ground Alistair was driving his sword though it. She could feel Deylan's magic channeling the last of the energy from the dragon. She sank back, feeling her weight sinking into the cold ground beneath her, relieved it was over.

"Ilaria!" she heard voices calling, though it seemed they were far away.

She'd just begun to sink back into the blackness that had been beckoning her when she felt herself being lifted. She opened her eyes to see, first Morrigan and then other faces above her.

"Are you alright?" Alistair's voice.

"My hands," she choked out.

"Out of the way," she heard Wynne saying. She couldn't help whimpering as Wynne pulled her arms away from her body to examine her hands. "This will take some time to mend. Morrigan, please, put her to sleep. This will be easier if she's still."

The heavy weight of spelled sleep pulled her under, away from the searing pain and cold ground and into the warm, dreamless black of sleep.

Ilaria's eyes opened to the soft light of a cloudy day filtering through the window. It took several moments before she was awake enough to piece together her memory enough to realize that she was tucked beneath heavy quilts in a warm bed. She looked around and was pleasantly surprised to see Alistair asleep in a chair across the room.

"That fool has hardly left the room." Morrigan's voice broke into her thoughts dispelling the last cobwebs of sleep.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Just over a day."

She raised her hands to the light. She hesitantly turned them over to see the damage done to her palms. Instead of the burns she expected, there was nothing but the bright pink of recently healed skin.

"The old woman does her job well," Morrigan said curtly.

"Are you alright?" she asked thinking of the dragon as it had hovered over the witch.

"I am well. It would seem I am in your debt," she said peevishly.

"You don't owe me anything, Morrigan."

"T'would seem I do. You expressed an interest in my knowledge of shape-shifting. I will teach you what I know." She stalked toward the door of the room.

"Morrigan," Ilaria called out softly, stopping the young witch at the threshold. "I meant what I said. You don't owe me anything."

"I always settle my debts," she replied without turning around shutting the door solidly behind her.

Alistair immediately perked up. "Thank the Maker, she's gone!" he said, rising and walking to the bedside. "I've been pretending to sleep for over an hour just so I didn't have to talk to her."

Ilaria smiled indulgently up at him as he sat on the bedside. "Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," he smiled back. "You seem to be feeling better."

"Morrigan was right. Wynne does do her job well. Was anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing serious. Scrapes and bruises mostly."

"How bad were my hands?" she said as she sat up. "I... I couldn't bring myself to look at them."

"Wynne said not to tell you but... well, it's probably better that you didn't look."

While Alistair continued speaking, Ilaria felt her stomach churn a little at the thought of what might have happened if Wynne hadn't been there. A mage can still cast without hands but it becomes a lot more complicated. The memory of the pain was still fresh in her mind and she force herself to focus on what Alistair was saying to push past it.

"...got the ashes. We'll be ready to leave at sunrise tomorrow. Are you okay? you look a little pale."

"I'm fine. Just a little thirsty."

"I'll get you some water," he replied.

He quickly leaned over and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before jumping up and bounding out of the room like a mabari pup. Ilaria put her hand to her cheek. She wanted to let that wave of giddiness building in her stomach to wash over her but, instead, pushed it back down. When Alistair came back into the room a few minutes later she was curled up under the blankets again. She'd taken her cue from him and was pretending to sleep. She didn't respond when he softly called her name. She heard him set a cup down on the table near the bed and return to his chair. After lying still with her eyes closed long enough she did drift back off to sleep and spent the night troubled by dreams of dragons and templars and endless searching.


	15. Ashes for Eamon

During the journey back to Redcliffe, Morrigan was true to her word and began to teach Ilaria shape-changing. Ilaria had always been a good student of magic and most spells came easily to her. Shape-changing, however, seemed to be the one thing she was unable to grasp.

"No! You have to let go of your form," Morrigan stressed again. It was obvious she was getting frustrated. Her usually short temper had become shorter and her scowl had gone beyond her usual grimace. "You have to let go of what you are to become something else."

"I'm trying."

Ilaria was frustrated. She'd gone through the steps over and over again and had been unable to get her form to vary at all. She was now exhausted from repeated attempts. Her head had started throbbing dully sometime back and now her eyes had that itchy, need-to-sleep feeling. She rolled her neck from side to side in an attempt to loosen stiffening muscles.

Morrigan sighed. "Think of the animal you're trying to shift to. Picture the shape, movement, smell, if you can."

"Morrigan," she sighed heavily, "I think I've had enough for tonight."

"Very well." The dark haired witch turned to leave and shifted into a large black wolf as she did so. For a moment, yellow eyes flashed back to where Ilaria stood in the snow as if to goad her on. Then she disappeared into the gloom of early night.

Ilaria dropped heavily into the snow behind her. She could feel the cold pressing up beneath her and felt grateful for the heavy cloak she was wearing. Spring should be settling into the plains of the Bannorn. She missed the winters in Tevinter; balmy days followed by cool evenings. She'd seen snow a handful of times growing up when her family spent Satinalia in their home near the base of the High Reaches. As she gazed up into the night sky, the twinkling stars soothed her. Her thoughts soon drifted to happy times with her father.

"Completed your training for the night, bella mia?" Zevran's silken voice broke into her thoughts. "Or are you up for some sparing?" He slumped into the snow next to her, leaning over her slightly as he rested on his elbow.

Ilaria snorted. "I don't know that I'd call it training. More like endless attempts with inevitable failure quick to follow."

"Come now, no need to wallow. There are many was one could be... distracted," he said stroking a finger along the curve of her cheek.

Ilaria smiled up at him. Zevran had attempted several times to lure her to his tent. It reminded her of Anders. Those two men were the only ones who were so bold in their desire and shameless in their flirtation.

"Yes, I'm sure you could be a distraction," she replied, dramatically rolling her eyes. "But what if I don't need to be distracted. Maybe I just need to rest."

"Ah, well, I have the perfect way to relax you before sleeping as well."

Ilaria couldn't help sniggering. She always giggled when she was tired.

"A man could never tire of the sound of a woman's laugh," he chuckled. He leaned down and lightly pressed his lips over hers. She was mildly surprised but the kiss was short enough that she didn't have time to react.

"Zevran... I..." she stuttered.

"Do not worry, mio fiore. Nothing more is expected of you than you are willing to give. But, know that I am always here should you require something... distracting." He dropped his voice seductively and lightly brushed his fingertips over the exposed skin on her neck.

Her heart fluttered and her stomach clenched. Zevran was attractive and... dangerous. She knew it was foolish but she couldn't resist the appeal. She also knew that being with him wouldn't require any commitment from her other than the moment. But that was part of the problem. Pushing away the temptation, she rose gracefully from the snow.

"Let's head back to camp, shall we? Before you tempt me into becoming your next conquest."

"You would never be simply a conquest, my dear."

If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. He casually looped his arm over her shoulders and followed her back to the warm light of the fire.

Alistair watched Ilaria walk back into the firelight with Zevran. He couldn't help the sudden wash of jealousy. Could she really be interested in him? Was there something going on between them? He stirred the fire with the long stick he was holding, sending sparks up into the darkening sky.

He looked up to see Ilaria talking to Leliana and Zevran. After a moment, Ilaria was left alone. Zevran often accompanied Leliana in the twilight to hunt. Between the two of them, they kept the party well supplied with small game. Alistair watched Ilaria disappear into the shadows of the trees nearby. He quickly rose and followed her.

"Ilaria?" he called.

"Here," came the response. He pushed through a group of low hanging branches to find her lifting firewood from the forest floor. Here, beneath the thick branches of the trees, the snow was nearly gone. Spring was on its way.

"Need some help?" he questioned.

"If you like."

He couldn't help but notice she was still avoiding meeting his eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

"What?" She raised her head, looking startled.

"I was just wondering if everything is alright."

She smiled briefly before looking away again. "I'm fine."

Alistair steeled himself, taking a deep breath, before pushing through with what he'd been thinking lately.

"I meant is everything okay between us?"

This time, Ilaria straightened completely, dropping the wood she had in her arms. Alistair had not expected the expression of shock that flashed over her features before they smoothed into an exaggerated calm. She bent down and began picking up the firewood she'd dropped.

"I don't know what you mean, Alistair. Everything's fine." Her voice was muffled as she spoke with her face turned toward the ground.

He knelt down beside her and helped her to gather the wood on the ground and then took what she already held in her arms. They slowly began walking back toward camp side-by-side.

"It just seems like you've been... distant since we left Haven. I thought we were friends. Have I done something to upset you?"

She stopped walking so suddenly that he'd taken a few more steps before stopping as well. The silence hung in the frozen air between them for several moments before she spoke softly.

"You haven't done anything, Alistair. It's just... in the Circle... There were rules. Not real rules, nothing written down. They just... were. And I shouldn't..." Her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched. He'd never seen her so flustered. She bit her bottom lip and he wondered if she were about to cry. He dropped the firewood and closed the distance between them.

"Ilaria," he said gently tipping her chin up with his finger so her eyes would meet his.

Looking into her eyes, he felt for a moment that he could see everything she felt. At that moment, what he could see most was her loneliness and need. He leaned down to kiss her, hesitating for a few moments with his lips not quite touching hers. When she shifted toward him slightly, he pressed his lips over hers. He was gentle at first, barely holding her, giving her space to pull away. But as she lingered he slipped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. He could feel the weight of her body as she leaned into him and soon his heart was pounding in his ears. It was as if he could feel everything and nothing all at once. He could feel the softness of her lips against his, her fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, the soft curve of her body pressing against his; but the entire world had fallen away. There was no cold, only her warmth; no noise except his heartbeat; no smell but the tangle of her hair tickling his cheek; and the only taste was the sweetness of her mouth. He lost time and before he knew it, she was pulling away.

In the darkening twilight, he could see how her cheeks had flushed. Her lips had reddened from the pressure of his and she was breathing heavily. He couldn't think of anything more beautiful. Several moments passed as she stared at him in silence.

"I'm sorry," she choked out before running past him toward camp.

Alistair stood there, puzzled. Kissing her like that had been phenomenal. He couldn't count the number of times that he'd thought of kissing her but he'd never imagined it to be quite like that. And he certainly never thought she'd run away afterward. Fluffy, wet snowflakes began drifting down heavily around him as he gathered up the firewood. When he got back to camp, Ilaria was nowhere to be found and he didn't see her again for the rest of the night either.

He was up with the sun the next morning only to find that she'd gone scouting ahead with Leliana. When they made camp that night, she disappeared with Morrigan and was gone early again the next morning. She managed to avoid him each day until Redcliffe appeared ahead of them. Alistair tore his thoughts away from Ilaria, buried his disappointment and focused on getting the ashes to Eamon, hoping he was still alive.

Eamon had been successfully healed by Andraste's ashes. It was as if he'd never been ill; nearly a week had passed since then. The castle was abuzz with preparations for a party to celebrate the Arl's recovery and the Warden's who'd cured him. Ilaria had made herself scarce since arriving in Redcliffe. She couldn't bring herself to face Alistair. Kissing him that night had surprised her. She'd always found him attractive and she'd felt herself growing attached to him for sometime but the surge of emotion when he'd kissed her had completely thrown her off guard. The only way she could think of to process it was to avoid him.

She'd been walking the grounds near the castle most of the morning. The heady scent of spring floated on the breeze. The earliest flowers had begun blooming and green was spreading everywhere. She was just beginning to lose herself in birdsong when Leliana's voice caught her attention. Ilaria peeked out cautiously to make sure her friend was still alone before stepping out into full view.

"There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd walked completely out of Ferelden."

Ilaria snorted. "In one morning? You just saw me at breakfast. I don't walk that fast, Leli."

"Of course not. But why aren't you getting dressed? It's nearly lunchtime and you haven't event bathed in rosewater yet. I'll set your hair once it's clean but you'll have to use magic to dry it. We should have done that at sunrise..."

Ilaria looked at the sincere concern on Leliana's face and withheld a chuckle.

"I'm not really too concerned about my hair, Leli. It's not like I have anyone to impress."

"Really? I thought you and Alistair looked... cozy."

"Alistair is just... Alistair." Ilaria tried to sound nonchalant. She got the distinct impression she was unsuccessful.

"That was vague. Besides, even if you didn't want to impress Alistair, Bann Teagan is awfully handsome. I think he was asking where you were when he came to breakfast this morning."

"I didn't see Bann Teagan at breakfast."

"Of course you didn't, silly. You dashed out as soon as Arl Eamon appeared with Alistair. Teagan didn't come in for awhile after that."

"I just needed some fresh air."

"Uh-huh. Sure you did. Well," Leliana said, looping her arm through Ilaria's," I have a bath drawn in your room and if we hurry back it will still be hot. We can't have you looking slovenly at the Arl's party tonight, now can we?"

"Leliana, I really don't feel..."

"Come now. This is exactly what you need. Maker knows we've all seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime already and there's more to come. Let's take some pleasure while we can." Leliana smiled genuinely at her friend and Ilaria lost the heart to refuse her any further. She unenthusiastically followed the bubbly Orlesian bard back to the castle.

After soaking all the mud of in a hot bath, Ilaria sat patiently while Leliana washed, combed and braided her long hair. Leliana asked her to use magic to dry her hair and then disappeared while Ilaria did so. A few minutes later she reappeared carrying yards of fabric. Ilaria turned from the mirror and her jaw dropped.

"In the name of Andraste..." she exclaimed, rising from the stool, "where did you find that gown?"

"Beautiful, isn't it? The Arlessa gave me free reign of her closet for the party tonight. I selected a gown for Morrigan as well but I'm still working on getting her into it. But I saw this one and knew the color would be perfect for you."

"Leli, the Arlessa is several inches taller than me. There's no way..."

"Oh, shush! You don't think I'd only be bringing this to you now if I hadn't had it sized already, do you? I've had your measurements for weeks; ever since we left Redcliffe the first time. I helped you stock up, remember?"

Ilaria stared at the gown and felt a sudden longing to be back in Tevinter with her father. Pushing it aside she smiled at her friend, allowing the excitement of a beautiful new gown to fill her.

"Very well, help me get it on." She couldn't help but laugh out loud at the girlish squeal Leliana let loose.

Alistair was surprised by the number of guests that had arrived for the Arl's dinner party. He recognized most of the Bann's from nearby households but there were many he didn't recognize. Much to his chagrin, Arl Eamon had been introducing him as the rightful heir to the throne, the lost son of Maric. It caused him even more discomfort as he was introduced to the daughters of the Bann's. Their coquettish smiles were increasing his discomfort tenfold.

He'd just broken away from Arl Eamon to get a drink when he saw Morrigan and Leliana enter through a side door. Leliana's gown fit her perfectly and was beautiful but had a simplicity that prevented her from standing out. Alistair imagined that was a result of habit. Morrigan's gown was an inky purple that still left a great deal of her pale skin exposed. He thought she was beautiful as well until she sneered at the crowd around her before turning her gaze back to the open door behind her. He could see her mouth move but couldn't make out what she was saying. After a moment's pause, Leliana reached out the door and pulled in Ilaria. Her appearance nearly made Alistair drop his drink.

Her gown was a deep emerald green that lit up her red hair as if her pale face was circled by fire. The corset was fitted close to her slender frame down to the top of her hips where a full skirt flared out behind her. Her shoulders were bare and the sleeves wrapped her delicate arms to just below the elbow. As she turned, he could see her hair running in long, soft waves down her back. Like Leliana's, the gown itself was relatively simple but the perfect fit and the small details lit her like a beacon. Deylan approached the group of women and lightly kissed each of them on the cheek. When Alistair realized that he was leading them to greet Eamon, he rushed to the Arl's side.

"Arl Eamon, may I present some of my traveling companions."

"Ah, yes. Leliana, I believe I've met you before."

Leliana curtsied elegantly.

"This is Morrigan," Deylan gestured to the dark haired witch. As Eamon greeted her, she barely nodded and then turned away.

"And this is my dear friend, Ilaria."

"Arl Eamon," she said in a soft, even voice. Her curtsy was as elegant as Leliana's; both of them in perfect control. Alistair was about to speak when Teagan's voice broke in.

"Come now, Warden, will you not excuse me? Ilaria, can I ask you to waltz?"

Alistair knew of Teagan's reputation for being a bit of a flirt and an occasional philanderer. He was about to object when Ilaria responded.

"It would be my pleasure, Bann Teagan," and was quickly whisked away.

"Please, excuse me Arl," Deylan interjected, taking Morrigan's hand and disappearing with her into the crowd.

Alistair stared moodily into the swirl of dancers, watching Teagan guide Ilaria around the floor. As he caught glimpses of her face he could see that gentle smile she gave while listening. Teagan appeared to be oozing charm. Alistair ground his teeth.

"Alistair, why don't you take this lovely lady out to dance?"

"Hmm... what?" He dragged his eyes away.

"There is a beautiful young lady in front of you without a dance partner. Why don't you invite her to dance?"

"Oh, uh... yes. I'm sorry. Leliana, would you like to dance?" His heart was only half in it.

"I thought you'd never ask, Alistair," she said. If he hadn't been so distracted he might have noticed the tone of her voice. As they spun around the floor with the other dancers, he did his best to keep Ilaria in his sights. When he caught her laughing in inadvertently tightened his grip on Leliana's hand.

"You know," Leliana's voice broke through to him, reminding him she was there. "All you need to do is ask her to dance yourself."

"What? Oh... I don't think she wants to dance with me."

"Oh, Alistair. She might not think she wants to dance with you but there is nothing she wants more."

"I... Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Leliana's laugh was both confusing and, somehow, amusing.

"Alistair, Ilaria has been in the Circle for three years. You trained as a templar. You must know what it's like for mages in the Circle to be in love."

"In love..."

Leliana rolled her eyes and sighed. "Alistair, I can't tell you exactly what she is feeling. I don't know that she fully shares that with anyone. And sometimes she gets this look in her eyes like she's... burying a great deal of pain. But when she looks at you..." Leliana broke into a tender smile.

"When she looks at me what?!" he pressed urgently.

"I think it would best be described as longing."

Alistair felt that familiar fluttering in his stomach that always seemed to hit him when Ilaria's eyes met his. Something in Leliana's words struck a chord in him. He wasn't sure if it was just hope or a ringing of truth. As the music came to an end, the dancers applauded.

"Go ask her to dance," Leliana urged.

Alistair scanned the floor, looking for Ilaria's familiar auburn hair only to find her dancing with the son of a Bann. He politely asked a young woman standing nearby to dance and finished out the song with her held at arm's length. As the next tune started, he found Ilaria dancing with Zevran. This seemed almost worst as the song was of Antivian origin and involved a great deal of... intimate proximity.

The floor quickly cleared of dancers as Zevran and Ilaria moved through the steps. Alistair knew that Ilaria had done a great deal of dancing in the Faire but he had never seen her dance before. The two of them seemed a perfectly matched pair. Their movements were elegant and full of fire. Her skirts spun around her, Zevran's hands guiding her through each movement as if he were caressing her. When the song ended, the applause was deafening and she was laughing. He could see her cheeks were flushed and, when the music started again, Zevran smoothly swept her away.

Alistair spend the rest of the night following her around the floor as she went from one partner to another. He nearly gave up trying to catch her when he noticed her sneaking away from the dance floor for a drink. He managed to cross the floor full of dancers just as she turned toward him. He mouth fell open slightly as he approached before she smiled sweetly. The pink flush of her cheeks reminded him of the night they kissed and he felt his heart begin to race.

"Will you dance with me, Ilaria?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding. "Of course, Alistair."

When the next song started, Alistair couldn't help but smile. It was a song long attached to a tale of deep, enduring love. As they took the floor, he wrapped his arm around Ilaria's delicate figure and pulled her slightly closer than was absolutely necessary. He measured his longer strides so that she wouldn't have any difficulty maintaining pace with him. At first, she kept her head tilted away from him as was common with some of the faster paced songs to watch where they were going and to avoid other couples.

"Ilaria," he whispered tenderly.

As she turned to look at him, he caught her eyes with his. He was so wrapped up in her, the flush of her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, that he didn't notice other couples leaving the floor. It wasn't till the song was finishing that he was aware of anything but her. As the music stopped, she took a step back from him a curtsied. She didn't say anything as she turned and quickly darted out the open door into the garden. It was then that he noticed the crowded that had gathered to watch them dance.

He stood there stunned, unaware of the music beginning again. It was Arl Eamon's voice at his shoulder that broke his gaze.

"She's a very beautiful woman. It's unfortunate that she isn't of noble birth."

"Excuse me, Arl Eamon." Alistair responded and disappeared out the doorway to the garden.

Spring had begun in earnest but the nights still carried a heavy chill. Ilaria looked out over Lake Calenhad, mesmerized by the half moon rippling in the dark water. Though the Circle Tower was too far away too be seen, she imagined it looming on the horizon. As a breeze gusted around her she shivered. She thought about returning inside, perhaps going to bed, but froze as a body-warmed coat slipped over her shoulders.

"You look cold." Alistair's familiar voice. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Is everything alright? We haven't really spoken since..."

She turned to look at him. "Since we kissed."

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him. Her eyes traced the dimly lit contours of his broad, muscular shoulders, up his neck and along the line of his strong jaw. He must have noticed when her gaze settled on his lips. He leaned down slowly, as he had before, and lightly pressed his lips against hers. She warred within herself. This just couldn't happen but it felt so right... perfect. As he pulled her closer, pressing his lips more firmly against hers, she breathed in his smell. There was a light hint of musky sweat and the soft smell of soap, the leather from his boots and belt, and something she couldn't quite identify that was simply Alistair. For a moment she allowed herself to get swept away in his smell, the heat of his body, the strength of his arms holding her close, the soft taste of his tongue as he brushed it against hers. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hands as they rested against his chest.

With a whimper, she pushed away from him and took several steps back. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see the tears she was fighting and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to drive them away.

"Ilaria," his voice was pained. "I don't understand. Why do you kiss me like that and then pull away."

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I just... I can't."

"Why?"

"How much time did you spend in the Circle during your templar training?" She could her the hollow ring of her voice.

"Only a few months."

"In the Circle, you don't get close to others. Some of the templars are cruel. They use any sort of affection as a way to torture the mages who are supposed to be in their care. I was only in the Circle for a few weeks when I learned that lesson. I watched two other mages tormented with their love for one another before one of them committed suicide. The other was killed by the very templars who had tormented him after he went into a rage over his lovers death. I... I don't know if I can love anymore. Not like that. And you... you deserve to be loved."

She choked on a sob and ran back toward the castle. She didn't stop until she'd locked the heavy door to her room behind her. She slumped on the bed and laid there until the ache in her chest faded and she drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, she woke in a tangled mess on the bed. Alistair's coat was still wrapped around her. She breathed his scent in deeply and felt the ache return. She climbed out of the bed and torturously twisted and bent until she'd worked her way out of the rumpled gown. She removed the few pieces of jewelry she wore and slid into a nightgown. Picking up Alistair's coat from the bed again, she knew she couldn't leave it in here to torture herself with.

Ilaria slipped quietly out her door. The hallway was barely lit by only a few torches. The silence told her the castle was sleeping. Her bare feet padded quietly down the hallways to Alistair's room. Standing outside the door, she raised her hand to knock and realized he must be sleeping. She leaned her weight against the door, trying to listen, wanting to just give in, wishing she could forget the worst of the Circle's lessons. Pulling back she folded the dress coat and laid it gently on the floor in front of the door and rushed back to her room.


	16. Death of a Witch

"Wait... You want us to what?" Alistair spluttered. "You want us to go into the Korcari Wilds, return to Flemeth's hut without a guide and kill the Witch of the Wilds?"

Deylan just continued looking at him soberly. Everyone was still tired from the long night of celebrations the previous evening.

"Oh, well, if that's all just sign me up. I always thought dying a horrible, bloody death before fighting the archdemon was the way to go."

"Deylan, what brought this on? Flemeth is Morrigan's mother. Why would she want her dead?" Ilaria's voice was calm and steady but Deylan could see the apprehension in her eyes.

"Morrigan has discovered some of her mother's well kept secrets. If she is to survive the Blight, Flemeth needs to be dealt with."

"And that's all you're going to tell us?!" Alistair bellowed. "You want us to storm off into Maker knows what because you've been sneaking in to that little..."

"Alistair!" Ilaria's voice was sharp. Her warning expression sobered him.

"Fine. You're the leader. We'll do whatever you want. I'll be waiting outside to learn my fate." He stomped heavily out of the room.

Everyone else had been strangely silent. Deylan watched the faces of the people he'd come to consider friends, some of them even family. His eyes settled on Ilaria's face last. She was carefully examining first Morrigan, who sullenly looked out a window in the far corner, then him.

"Deylan, I understand why you're asking us to do this but I just need to know... Is this important enough to risk the Blight destroying Ferelden? Is there no other way to protect Morri..."

Morrigan's voice was cold and hard. "There is no other way."

Deylan watched Ilaria look at the ground for a moment before speaking.

"You do realize, taking on this task... it might save Morrigan's life but could cost the lives of others."

"I do."

"I'll let Bodahn know we're leaving in the morning."

The rest of the group filed out solemnly after Ilaria leaving Deylan alone with Morrigan.

"'Twould seem our nights together have not gone unnoticed," Morrigan commented.

"Did you think they would?"

"I thought, perhaps, none of the others cared enough about my comings and goings to notice."

"If you think no one else cares for you, you don't know Ilaria as well as you think." His voice held no anger; it was a simple statement of fact.

Morrigan had been looking at him but turned her eyes back to the window at his statement. Heavy raindrops tapped against the glass making their own soft music.

"I do not understand her."

Deylan's relationship with Morrigan had begun simply. They provided one another with warmth and comfort. But at some point, things had slowly begun to change. He approached her, gently cupping her cheek in his hand and placed a light kiss on her lips. Pulling back, he looked at her tenderly.

"Ilaria is not like us. She's from another world. Love comes easily to her. It's not a challenge like it is for..."

"It is weakness," Morrigan pouted slightly as she turned away.

"No, not for her." Deylan looked toward the door. "It's her strength."

As they left the garden house they'd been meeting in, most of the party headed back toward the castle. The rain, which had been sprinkling lightly when they arrived, was now coming down in a heavy torrent. Since she needed to head into the village to speak with Bodahn, Ilaria waited beneath the overhang to see if the storm would lift slightly. She didn't like the idea of a long walk in the cold rain. When nothing had changed after several minutes, she gritted her teeth and stepped out into the garden. She was nearly to the road when Alistair stepped out from behind the thick trunk of a tree, blocking her path.

"So you're just going to go along with whatever he wants, no questions asked?" His tone was neutral but had a hard edge.

"Some things simply need to be done." She tried to edge around him on the path. He shifted his stance to block her again.

"Getting us all killed needs to be done?"

"Keeping Morrigan alive needs to be done." She pushed past him. Even with the cover of the blossoming tree overhead, the rain had still soaked her through. Her clothing clung to her, her cloak was a weight behind her and her hair was plastered to her head.

"As far as I'm concerned, we'd all be better off without that bitch!"

Ilaria stopped and spoke without turning to face him. "He loves her... and right now, for him to get through this, he needs her alive."

"So it's that simple. Someone is loved and suddenly it's okay to sacrifice the lives of your friends to keep that someone alive?" His tone was harsh, angry and hurt.

"Sometimes, loving someone gives you the hope you need to keep everyone else alive."

"Yeah, but I guess that works better if they love you back."

"She does love him," she said softly, just loud enough for Alistair to hear her.

Ilaria couldn't handle anymore. She could feel the frustration and anger rolling off of Alistair and it was needling her in places she couldn't deal with. Pushing away the feelings that were threatening to break through her carefully built wall, Ilaria rushed out to the road and headed to Redcliffe Village.

They were packed and ready to go the next morning. The Arl provided them with extra supplies, repaired all their armor and sharpened their weapons. Most of his horses had been killed when the demon took over Redcliffe but he sent them with nearly half of what remained to speed their journey. Sten refused to ride but they had enough to share amongst the others, excluding Shale who called the horses "filthy beasts of burden." Dax happily bounded up and down the road and through the nearby fields. Deylan rode with Morrigan in the lead followed by Leliana and Wynne. Alistair rode alone at the end of the line. His weight and armor was enough of a burden. Just ahead of him, Zevran rode behind Ilaria, his arms wrapped around her waist. Alistair was sure the elf was sitting closer and holding on tighter than absolutely necessary. Bits of their conversation occasionally floated back to him. He caught only the odd word but couldn't help cringing when Ilaria's laugh chimed in the air.

"It seeks the attention of the fire mage."

"What?" Alistair had forgotten that Shale was just behind him.

"I have seen how it looks at her and how it dislikes her attention elsewhere."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded sullenly.

"It does. But I shall not discuss it further."

Alistair ground his teeth, holding back a response that would give away far more than he wanted to reveal. He hoped his horse would poop on Shale's feet. The thought gave him a moments respite.

When they stopped for lunch, Alistair watched as Zevran helped Ilaria down from the horse. He still thought every touch of Zevran's lingered too long. He sat away from the others as he ate, stewing over dark thoughts. When Leliana called to him, his response held more of a snap than he intended. He apologized and brushed his behavior off as fatigue.

They set up camp that night in a secluded area that would be easy to defend. The next morning they planned to leave early to confront Flemeth while Morrigan, Shale and Leliana remained behind. Musing over what Ilaria had said, Alistair watched how Deylan and Morrigan interacted with each other that night. It wasn't obvious, but he noticed small things he hadn't before: a tender look or soft smile, how close they sat while they ate and, of course, that they disappeared into her tent together. He wondered if maybe Ilaria was right and that this is what Deylan needed right now. The realization made him more accepting of their current mission but one look at Ilaria sitting with Zevran and Leliana left a hollow pit in his stomach. He went to bed that night without finishing his dinner.

Ilaria had never been to the Wilds before. Mist swirled around the trunks of ancient trees. It seemed shadows flitted just out of her vision. She was uneasy. As Flemeth's hut came into view, the uneasiness settled deep into her gut leaving her with a haunting premonition. She could sense unbelievable power in the air which only increased her foreboding.

"And so you've returned. No doubt Morrigan has convinced you to do her bidding. And what have you brought with you?" The wizened old woman slowly approached Ilaria. "Old magic in this one, yes," she said leaning in close. "And what's this? Dragons blood, I think. Very old and long ago..." She chuckled darkly. "And you didn't even know. Foolish child. Even the old families in Tevinter have lost so much. But that isn't all, is it?" Leaning in close, Flemeth whispered, "Death left his mark on you, my dear."

"Flemeth," Deylan's voice was filled with authority... and a warning. "You know what Morrigan told us. You know we've been to the Circle. Tell me now, is it true?"

Flemeth stepped back towards her hut. She looked as if she was thinking. With some distance between herself and the witch, Ilaria couldn't repress the shudder that ran down her spine.

"That tale has been told many times; sometimes I have told it myself. But let's just skip to the ending, shall we? Do you kill the crazy old witch or does this tale take another turn?" Flemeth's smile was cunning and cruel.

"What do you mean? Will you release Morrigan?" Deylan asked.

"For now. I will come for her eventually, but she doesn't need to know that. I'll offer you a bargain. You leave her, tell my devious little daughter that I am dead and she'll be none the wiser."

"She wants your grimoire," he stalled.

"Take it. It means little to me."

Deylan hesitated for a moment before responding.

"I can't allow you to return for her later. I won't lie to her."

"Very well then. You've chosen your fate. Let us hope you don't regret it."

Before any blow could be landed against her, Flemeth shifted into the form of a high dragon. She almost seemed to laugh as flames flickered around her jaws. After that, everything happened so quickly, Ilaria only had time to react. She did her best to keep her distance but the Flemeth-dragon moved so quickly it was difficult to keep enough space between herself and thrashing claws while she cast.

After a long battle, Flemeth was bleeding from several long, deep cuts in her hide. Ilaria watched as Alistair jumped to make a killing blow. Flemeth's reaction was almost too quick to see. Just as Alistair's feet left the ground, Flemeth snapped her head around, plucking Alistair from the air and crushing him between her jaws. Ilaria screamed as Flemeth thrashed her head back and forth until there was a sickening snap and she dropped Alistair lifelessly to the ground.

Ilaria channeled as much energy as she could into a frost spell that began at Flemeth's legs and spread upward quickly. Noticing what see was doing, Deylan soon joined in. Before Flemeth could counter them, her feet were frozen to the ground by several inches of frost. Taking advantage of her immobility, Sten charged at her chest and drove his long blade deep toward her heart. As she began to collapse, he withdrew the blade and ran it up the exposed neck. Flemeth was dead as she struck the ground.

Ilaria stopped casting and ran to where Alistair lay motionless, panic clouding her vision. She used a spell to quickly catalogue his injuries: broken neck, internal bleeding, more open gashes than she could immediately count, broken leg. As she examined him, she could feel his heart as it slowly beat. Soon, it stopped.


	17. Life Binding

"No! Wynne, you _have _to do something!" Ilaria cried. Flemeth was dead and Alistair lay motionless, broken and battered, blood slowly pooling around him.

Wynne sighed. "Ilaria, he's too far gone. I'm sorry but..." her voice cracked, "there's nothing I can do."

The young mage looked at the woman she'd come to respect as a mentor, a great healer. If she was giving up so easily then the damage must be even worse than she realized. Fighting off panic, Ilaria ran through spells in her head finally settling on one she'd studied long ago. It was old magic from a very old tome. It had spoken of consequences but they had been unclear. Time had worn away what warning may have been there. But the knowledge would not have changed her mind now. A calm clarity settled on her.

"Zevran, bring Morrigan and the others here. There are extra vials of lyrium in my pack. Wynne will need them to finish healing." As she turned away from him her shield came up dividing her and the dying Warden from the others. She ignored the outcry from behind her and knelt down beside the wounded warrior. She removed his helm and loosened his armor before rising to her feet to began casting.

The spell would have been considered blood magic by the templars and their Chantry but she wasn't actually drawing energy from the blood. The massive body of the Flemeth dragon was still flooded with mana; mana that would rapidly drain away with the blood. Her window of opportunity was quickly shrinking. She closed her eyes and began pulling the mana to her.

Deylan watched Ilaria with a horrified fascination. Whatever she was doing it looked very much like blood magic but that didn't entirely make sense. He could see her drawing blood from the still form of the dragon but it was dead. The red tendrils that were once life swirled out from the open wounds and began swirling around the delicate mage. When she'd surrounded herself with a sphere of red magic, he could see her manipulating it, pushing the energy into Alistair's dying body. At first, it didn't seem as if her effort was having any effect but then, after several silent moments, Deylan could see his fellow Warden begin to heal. A twisted leg straightened, gashes on exposed flesh began to close, and then his chest began to rise and fall again.

A wave of relief washed through him. He would not be the only Warden in Ferelden as he had begun to fear. The relief was cut short when he saw Ilaria stagger. Because he'd been so intent on Alistair's recovery, he hadn't noticed the toll it was taking on his sister mage. She had gone beyond her limit and showed no indication of stopping. He tried calling out to her but she paid him no mind. He watched her fall to her knees, still sustaining the spell. After a moment she fell forward onto her hands and then collapsed to the earth with a sigh. The shimmer of her shield disappeared. He ran to her, lifting her limp body from the ground. A groan pulled his attention from Ilaria long enough to notice Alistair's eyes opening.

The power had been exhilarating at first, wild and intense, but as the spell worked its magic, Ilaria began to feel the drain and realized that completing the spell could take her life. She didn't pause. Focusing her will into the magic, she watched Alistair's injuries begin to knit and close and then disappear. When his open wounds had been healed, she began to focus on the injury that must have caused Wynne to despair, Alistair's broken spine. She funneled more energy into him and was elated when she sensed the bones and tissues returning to their intended state. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit her and she staggered before regaining her composure. _Almost finished!_ The final push of healing magic drained her completely and she fell to her knees. The ground, already so close rushed toward her face before everything went black.

_The Fade... I'm in the Fade. Am I dead?_ It was difficult to think. Ilaria felt as if she was trying to pull herself through mud. It took some time for the familiar voices around her to register.

"Focus, mortal. You must decide!"

_Justice... my spirit of Justice. _Her eyes focused on the ghostly images before her. _And compassion... and Wisdom._

_Compassion _pressed _Justice _aside. "Child, you must choose. The spell you cast is consuming you but you do not need to die. There are still things you can do."

Ilaria looked up at the image she'd come to recognize as her spirit of _Compassion. _"I don't understand."

_Compassion_ smiled sweetly. "You have greatly weakened yourself healing a mortal man. You are dying. Your life can be spared but it will come at a cost."

"What cost?"

"You will be forever bound to him," _Wisdom_ stated. "Your life will never be completely your own. Your energies will go toward his needs and, when the time comes, your life will be given for his."

"So if I bind myself to Alistair, I will die in his stead?"

"You will have to decide in that moment to either give your life for his or to sever the bond between the two of you. Only death will separate you," _Compassion _explained.

"Choose carefully, child," _Wisdom _cautioned, "more than your life is affected by your decision."

Ilaria frowned, weighing her options. _Why did I even try to save him in the first place? _she wondered. Her mind conjured up his face: his amber eyes twinkling with mirth or full of righteous anger, his easy smile, the way his jaw clenched every time Morrigan spoke. A flood of emotions threatened to bury her. What had she been keeping from herself? A memory worked its way to the surface; Alistair reaching down to help her up, her hand dwarfed in his, his fingers so warm. He'd been gentle... to a mage. It was in that moment, remembering the warmth of his hand around hers, the soft look on his face as he helped her to stand, that she realized _I love him_...

"Bind us," she said firmly, knowing that what she was really binding herself to was heartache.

_Compassion _and _Wisdom_ simply nodded. _Justice _glowered down at her. "When death seeks your companion, remember that mercy found you a second time. We will not aid you again."

The Fade blurred out of focus. For a moment Ilaria could see the shining threads binding her to the Fade, the threads that she drew her power from. She watched them twist and reach toward a hazy figure. His connection to the Fade was so much weaker than hers. When the threads reached him, they twined around him, tying him to her with a thick rope of shimmery light. _Alistair... _Then blackness once again rolled in and took over.

She slept for days. When she woke in Flemeth's hut, Leliana was hovering over her.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she smiled.

Ilaria's mouth was dry and everything felt heavy. After several unfocused moments, the memory of her time in the Fade pressed down on her and she closed her eyes to focus the tide of emotions.

"Water?" she asked, knowing it would give her a moment to control herself without her friend's studying eyes.

She returned almost too soon. While Ilaria drank the cool, muddy tasting water, Leliana explained, "You've been asleep for almost four days. For a while I didn't think you'd survive. I don't know what you did but it nearly killed you."

Lowering the cup, Ilaria met steady, clear eyes. "Is Alistair alright?"

The Bard smiled. "Yes, you did very well healing him. In fact, he may even be better off now than before. He doesn't have hardly a mark on him."

"Where is he?"

"He went back to Ostagar, as planned with Deylan and the others, except Morrigan. She has been in and out, bringing back what food she can find, mostly rabbits and these funny smelling roots, and sorting through all of Flemeth's things."

"Dax?"

Leliana smiled. "He's fine. After sniffing over you for a few hours, he followed Deylan when they left. I'm sure he'll be looked out for."

Ilaria nodded her relief. After poking and prodding her for several minutes and forcing her to eat as much broth as she could stomach, Leliana finally consented to allowing her out of bed. She washed quickly with a bowl of warm water by the fire, dressed and wrapped herself in a heavy cloak before stepping outside into the weak sunlight. Not entirely sure where she was going but knowing that she needed time alone, she set of down a narrow trail into the Wilds.

Alistair went looking for Ilaria as soon as he and the others returned from Ostagar. She'd still been sleeping when he left but he could feel something... different. It was almost as if there was a thread connecting him to her wherever he went. He followed her light tracks in the mud through the Wilds near Flemeth's hut. He was nearly a mile from the hut when he spied her ahead sitting on top of a large flat rock wrapped in a heavy, fur-lined cloak. He approached slowly, debating on whether or not to intrude on the solitude she'd so obviously sought. He was still several feet away from her and about to turn back when she spoke.

"Hello, Alistair," she said softly without turning around.

"Hey," he replied as he crossed the distance to stand beside her rock. "I'm happy to see you're up. You had us all worried there for awhile."

She smirked as she looked into the distance. "You're one to talk."

"Yeah... well, I'm sturdy," he grinned when she turned and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Although, I understand it was more of what you did than my... sturdy-ness."

The smile faded from her face. "I did what I had to."

He let the heavy silence hang between them. As evening approached, the ever present mist began to thicken.

"Ilaria, what _exactly_ did you do?" he finally asked, breaking the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper and though he knew she heard, she did not respond. "Something has changed," he continued. "I can't explain it. I can still sense the darkspawn like I did before but there's something... _more_."

Silence.

"Leliana told me what she saw though she says she really didn't understand most of it. Wynne won't talk about it at all but changes the subject every time I mention it. Did you... did you use blood magic?"

"No." She absentmindedly picked at some moss on the rock next to her.

"Ilaria," he demanded, his voice rising as he grabbed her upper arms turning her to face him. "What did you do?"

She met his eyes and he could see the turmoil in her. He released her arms but continued watching and waiting. She opened her mouth to speak several times but seemed to choke on her words. Alistair gently cupped her cold-reddened cheek in his hand, gently stroking his thumb up and down her cheekbone.

"Talk to me, please."

"I didn't use blood magic. It probably looked that way." Now that she'd started the words seemed to come out in a rush. "It was an old spell, similar to Deylan's entropy spells, draining magic from the dead or dying. But Flemeth.. the dragon, there was so much..." She shuddered a little and looked down. "I've never felt anything quite like that before. Funneling that much energy through me... it was too much... Your neck was broken. Wynne said she couldn't heal you, that it was too late, but I couldn't let you die. You were almost healed when I felt myself... fading. But I couldn't stop. I started... slipping... between here and the Fade. There were... Spirits there, waiting... for me."

She seemed to be struggling with every word and, though Alistair was buzzing with questions, he held his tongue and let her continue.

"They weren't demons. Normally Spirits don't interfere but these ones have a... history with me... my family. They reminded me of a spell I'd read about years ago... a type of battle magic that was abandoned... Life-binding. I didn't understand it. They filled in the gaps."

She finally raised her eyes to his again. He could see the glitter of tears she wouldn't release and something bordering on panic.

"That's what's different. That's what you're feeling. To keep us both alive, to keep you alive, I bound myself to you... through magic. I'm sorry," she whispered and looked away.

Alistair didn't know what to say. He didn't fully understand what she'd told him or what the implications of it all were but something about the way she looked at him in that moment pushed all the questions away. The only thing he understood was that she had given her life to save him, in more ways than one. He reached out and used his fingertips beneath her chin to turn her face to his once again.

"I don't understand everything you just told me... and I'm not sure I ever will. But let's not worry about that right now. You saved my life." He gave her a warm, gentle smile. "Let's get you back to the hut. You're freezing and need to eat something. Leliana said you left right after breakfast and it's after dinnertime."

He gave her his most charming smile. She smiled softly back and allowed him to help her rise. They'd only walked a few steps when she staggered weakly. Without thinking, he swept her up into his arms and began carrying her back.

"Alistair, I can walk."

"Perhaps. But it seems I'm bound to you now so I might as well make sure you get back without any scrapes or bruises. But we will have to continue this conversation later."

"Fair enough," she replied before nuzzling down against the warmth of his neck. He leaned his head lightly against hers hoping that they would finally cross into new territory.


End file.
